


Trauma is a Tricky Thing

by rideswraptors



Series: Trauma [1]
Category: Jurassic World (2015)
Genre: After the Movie, Also: I complain a lot, Claire and Owen deal with shit, F/M, Future Fic, I'm tagging a lot, Not Beta Read, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, claire does what claire does, do I have to tag things like this for every chapter????, do they get married?, i don't really write that shit very well., kid fic???, lots of fluff, not so slow burn, owen becomes a gator trainer, side note: this was only supposed to be 3 pages. Like one chapter, some sexy times eventually, their shit, took a while for me to decide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-13
Updated: 2015-07-13
Packaged: 2018-04-09 04:24:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 57,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4333793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rideswraptors/pseuds/rideswraptors
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the fallout of Jurassic World, Claire and Owen have to deal with themselves and each other in order to make a new life. Only a little bit of angst and a lot of fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Obviously I own none of this and I make no money from it....sigh.  
> Reviews are love. I'll take all the criticism I can get. Seriously. Rip it apart.  
> You can find me on tumblr too: bringonthedeluge

Trauma is a tricky thing. And for Claire Dearing, it had become especially tricky when she returned to the United States after Jurassic World officially closed. After they’d gotten off the island, she and the rest of the company’s employees were put up in a hotel in D.C. for rounds of debriefings, interviews, and indictments against the executive board for negligence and scientific malpractice which lead to manslaughter. Claire and her people were especially under fire for having been involved in the creation and execution of the Indominus Rex project. All anyone wanted to know was why, how could this be allowed to happen, and what were they thinking? Everything she had done for the month leading up I-Rex’s escape from containment was under scrutiny. They kept saying “asset,” they kept telling her that she hadn’t properly prepared, that this could have been prevented had she taken the correct steps. The company was considering suing her for the death of their most costly asset and the subsequent ruination of the park, but then a picture of her daring rescue of Owen as the dimorphodon attacked surfaced, and they were laughed out of court. Apparently, Claire Dearing was just as much a victim of the company’s corrupt and negligent practices as anyone else.

Victim.

That was not a word that she had ever applied to herself in, well, ever. She was not the type to blame the powers that be for her own mistakes. It had been a mistake not to get the I-rex’s location before letting people into the paddock. It had been a mistake not to calculate the extra risk with a hybrid. It had been a mistake to treat it as a static, unthinking monster that would merely perform for its masters. That was definitely on her. But victim? That’s what they were calling everyone who’d gotten off the island alive. Victims of this, victims of that. Claire had risked her life, she’d gone toe to toe with giants and won. She was a _survivor._ There were victims who had died, people and dinosaurs alike. Charlie, Delta, and Echo were victims. Zara was a victim. Not Claire.

So in the whirlwind that was the aftermath, she dealt with what had happened like she dealt with everything else. Calmly, and in control, she kept a straight face and answered everyone’s questions as honestly and as legally as she could. But it felt temporary, short term. Her stay in D.C was only until she could get back to the island and clean up the mess, fill out all the paperwork. There were piles of reports to read and sign for different agencies and government bodies. Hundreds and hundreds of severance packages to start handing out. Reassignment requests. Transfer requests. It was endless. She just had to get _back_.

And she wasn’t the only one chomping at the bit. Owen was right there beside her the whole time, helping, answering questions, fending off reporters, and was just as eager to get back and clean up the mess. Karen thought they were insane. Zach and Gray were already having nightmares and flashbacks; they weren’t able to focus, they weren’t sleeping, they were isolating themselves. She’d taken her sons to see a therapist, but truly, they only talked to each other. Zach even broke up with his pretty girlfriend when she complained he was spending too much time with Gray. The board wanted to send in a third party to clear things up and assess whether the park would reopen. They thought she was losing her mind for wanting to go back and do it herself. But Owen agreed; anyone that wasn’t them couldn’t be trusted not to be paid off. Owen seemed to be the only one who was agreeing with her anymore. Karen claimed he only agreed with her because they were sleeping together, which happened to be untrue.

While in D.C., there hadn’t been much time or energy to discuss what “they were.” There were too many people asking too many questions about things that really didn’t concern them. And it always felt like one more heavy thing dropped on their shoulders would break them completely. So no, they didn’t talk, they stuck together and survived, just like Owen said. Originally, they had been put up in a hotel by Masrani Corporation and given their own rooms, three floors apart. But they weren’t sleeping much anyway, the adrenaline and anxiety too much for a single person to cope with. Owen didn’t even question it when Claire showed up with take out, insisting that her room was too big and she couldn’t stay there. He simply opened the door wider and, later that night, held the sheets open for her to climb into bed with him. The next morning she moved her things into his room.

“I just feel so exposed in there. It’s silly, I know, but I feel like I’m being watched.”

“Brain still thinks you’re being hunted.” They couldn’t laugh at that because between the lawyers and reporters, it wasn’t far from the truth. So many pictures and sound bites surfaced from the attack that the media was turning them into heroes. And since it was such a hot and intriguing topic, photographers followed them practically everywhere. Masrani lawyers decided that it would be best that they do everything separately, a divide and conquer strategy that would only work for so long. They were escorted by guards to and from buildings, and the hotel was under constant surveillance. The Powers that Be were afraid of some kind of vigilante lash back. Claire and Owen tried not to complain too much. So, during the day, Claire spent her time in board meetings while Owen was debriefed and interviewed. Sometimes he was brought into the board meetings, and she had to go out and talk to people. It was exhausting. They’d meet back at the hotel, order in dinner, and hold each other through the night even if one or both never slept. But there was nothing sexual about it. No kissing, no sex, not even innuendo from Owen. Just them. For a time, this staved off the nightmares, the panic, the anxiety. When they were split up during the day, Claire hated to admit it, but she was anxious about where he was. Seeing him in court or during an interview were the best moments of her day; her body relaxing and chest loosening in a way they couldn’t when he wasn’t there. Owen clearly felt the same way because relief was written all over his expression in those moments. It was difficult to miss. But, once again, she refused to actually talk about it with him. Owen didn’t talk much at all in the first few months after, which was a relief. They could hide together in the silence.  Instead, she thought to bring it up in the corporate mandated therapy session the one time she went.

“That’s perfectly normal after the trauma you experienced,” the tediously composed shrink told her. “It happens to soldiers who’ve seen combat, police partners who’ve been shot at, and the like. He was your partner out there. If he was out of sight, no one had your back. The natural response is to panic.” He insisted that the feeling would probably fade over time, once she’d truly processed what she’d been through. Claire thought he was full of shit. Not having that goofy raptor whisperer around made her feel sick and uneasy, especially in open spaces or crowded rooms. She felt a sense of dread when they parted ways in the morning. But no matter how disturbing, it was easy enough to brush these things aside in order to handle business. Work came first.

The biggest question of them all was if and who they would send back to Isla Nublar for purposes of cleaning up and assessing damages. All of the blame had been put squarely on the shoulders of Hoskins and Simon Masrani, and since they weren’t there to defend themselves and no one cared what Claire had to say about it, everything was tied up in a neat little bow. Masrani and its associates were fined millions of dollars, but criminal charges were dropped. It was deemed absolutely necessary to go back, so InGen was hired to send teams over headed up by Claire, Owen, Barry, Lowery, and several other Masrani techies. Lowery had no problem getting back there; those systems were his babies. He’d designed and manually coded almost the entirety of the mainframe from scratch. It was Claire and Owen who argued about going back. Owen thought it wasn’t necessary for her to even be there; her work could be done theoretically and off site based off of their reports. Claire _knew_ he was going to hunt down Blue on his own, and there was no guarantee that she would even recognize her former trainer. They both _wanted_ to go, they just didn’t want the other to go. In the end, it was Owen who caved.

“I’m not going if you don’t,” he told her one night while they were lying in bed. When she demanded to know why, he told her he needed her. Her expression must have been confused because he clarified with a shrug, “Need you.” It was the damnedest thing, but it was true.

So Claire found herself grasping Owen’s hand on the helipad on top of the corporate offices of Jurassic World. It was the biggest breath of fresh air she’d gotten since that last night, and everything seemed to fall into place when she took in the scent of peat, moss, and ocean air. Insane as it seemed, her connection to the island and its wildness had grown stronger since she dove into the heart of it. Being back in the city, where everything was concrete and people, made her uneasy. There were noises that didn’t echo, ground that didn’t give way, and everything was out in the open. She was constantly on guard and the blow would never come. She would never turn around and see Jurassic birds dive bombing people on the streets, or see the T-rex loom in front of her. She’d never feel the hot, rancid air from the I-rex’s nostrils blow past her face. Her stomach swooped with adrenaline, her hands shook from sheer terror. Being in the park meant going into survival mode. It meant ignoring the warning signs of panic and fear in favor of staying alive. The park had become normal. And, it was ready to swallow her whole, just like it had swallowed up everything else. Strangely, it was the desirable option.

“At least here,” Owen mumbled as they were escorted inside, “we know what we’re up against.”

“Dinosaurs and corrupt mercenaries?”

“Better than lawyers and paparazzi.”

Once again they were given separate rooms on separate floors of the apartment complex. Claire had a suite in the pent house on the 24th floor, so she quickly moved her things into Owen’s on the fifth. She cited pteranodons and dimorphodons as the reason. She had no desire to have those things diving through her windows when she had the light on at night. The intimacy of their arrangement didn’t escape them, of course, they simply didn’t care. There were frequent power outages that would last for hours which meant no elevators, and as Owen said, “I’m not trekking up twenty fucking flights of stairs if you have a goddamn nightmare.” She responded that she wouldn’t have waited for him anyway and they’d end up sleeping in the stairway. Considering what was outside, that wouldn’t have been a terrible decision. There was only one person who made any comment about them sharing a room, and it was Barry to Owen. They had known each other quite a long time, and Barry knew better than anyone when Owen was diving in too deep. After all, this was the guy who signed up to work with velociraptors. “You sure about this, my friend? She’s no easy walk in the park, eh?” Owen understood where he was coming from, tried to tamp down his temper, and coolly responded that he always knew exactly what he was doing. How it all turned out was out of his control. Barry clapped his shoulder, satisfied with that answer. Unfortunately, the bigger problem would turn out to be that most of their teams had never been on Isla Nublar, which was more of a problem for Owen than her. Lowery was much louder about it. He was constantly peeved about their lack of respect for what had happened there, constantly chastising people for trying to nick souvenirs, and those who were taking pictures with the skeletons of the animals which had been left behind to bake in the sun.

“They don’t even know what happened here, Claire! We watched people _die_ out there, and they’re running around like it’s still a damn amusement park!” He wasn’t doing as well as he thought he would, apparently. None of them were. The first night there a group of them who had been there gathered to talk and go over their plans. It was soothing to have not only tech and corporate folks there, but some of the InGen people as well. These were the people who knew the implications of their presence there, who knew what would happen if the park reopened. It wasn’t a game to them. Being on the island with all those familiar faces made Claire a little woozy, and she had no problem leaning on Owen for support. His default position was right next to her, and if she let him, he’d stand behind her, arms wrapped around her front. He would talk into the crook of her neck and she threaded their fingers together. Lowery made some snarky comment about it, sleeping with the boss or something, and Owen slapped him upside the head. Barry chuckled.

Their assignment was stated simply enough: tell us if we can reopen. Claire was in charge of assessing the monetary loss, the cost of reopening, conducting focus groups, and so on. She wasn’t optimistic. Buildings and paddocks had been destroyed, assets had been slaughtered, the systems had been destroyed beyond repair according to Lowery, and there was not a positive feeling among the public for Jurassic World at present. Despite the serious and loud intention to reopen, there was no belief that anyone was capable of operating a dinosaur park safely anymore. Third time’s the charm, right? Not in Claire’s opinion. Owen and his team would be locating and evaluating the “assets” in order to determine if they had enough left to establish attractions. Owen’s actual priorities were to find Blue and assess whether or not any of the animals could be captured and re-contained safely. And then, get everyone to stop calling living creatures “assets.” He seriously, seriously doubted it. They discussed hypothetically what would need to be done to reopen one night over dinner, whether or not it was a viable and feasible option. Just for the sake of argument, of course.

“It would definitely get more attention on a global scale, kind of like a historic battle museum. Like Gettysburg; they could eventually do tours of the places where significant events occurred. Erect monuments. Keep the animals on a smaller scale…” she said slowly.

“More hybrids?” Owen asked dropping his fork, “You really think _more hybrids_ is the answer?”

“That’s not what I’m saying…”

“So what, smaller and more teeth?”

“Owen…”

“No, no, absolutely not. We both lost friends out there, we both lost colleagues…I lost…Tragedy is not entertainment,” he finally gritted out. It took everything she had to remain in her seat, but her hands flew to his over the table. They were eating in a public space with the rest of their teams, a scene would be inappropriate.

“It’s just hypothetical, okay?” she ducked her head to get him to look at her, “I need you to look at me and tell me you understand that I wouldn’t let that happen.” He stayed quiet. That wasn’t surprising. She’d always taken the corporate side of things, all business all the time. “Owen,” she said firmly, “ _Look at me_.” It was the same tone he’d taken with his girls, that same level of firm respect and demandingness that he miraculously maintained in every stressfully perilous situation. And he obeyed, those blue eyes of his piercing into her like Blues’ had. _A velociraptor looks at what it wants_. Isn’t that what he’d always said? Claire gripped his hands tighter and kept eye contact. “If they try to reopen this park, I’ll bring down so much hell on them that we’ll be tied up in court for a decade. And if they reopen it anyway, I’ll resign and go to the US Attorney with every damning tidbit I know exists about those board members.” She held his eyes for every second he looked at her, not wanting to look away, not wanting him to doubt her promise. The look of hope and relief on his face was just heartbreaking, and tears welled up in her eyes when he bent to kiss each of her hands.  One, then the other. It had been a hard day as it was, they still hadn’t found Blue. And if the contract team found her first, they’d shoot to kill. They’d put down over two hundred assets over the course of a week. The T-Rex was still at large, but if they killed off its food supply, eventually it would die off on its own. So, it wasn’t as if Blue was specifically being targeted. Owen just wanted to be the one to do it.

“She saved our lives. Owe her that much.” Claire understood. If it wasn’t so dangerous, she’d go with him. But Blue had been hunting on her own for weeks, no containment, no alpha, just her near the top of the food chain. “I’ll be able to focus on her if I’m not worrying about you,” Owen had insisted. She countered that _she_ would worry if he was out there alone. She didn’t particularly trust anyone to watch his back beside Barry; they all thought he had some mystical dinosaur taming powers. They’d get him killed if they weren’t vigilant. He still refused to take her. Technically, Owen was in charge out in the field, so there was nothing she could do. Just to pacify her in some way, they kept in constant contact throughout the day; Claire worked out of the control room where she could have perpetual eyes on him and the team and he radioed in every half hour. He told her one night that the guys were giving him shit about it; asking if she was a nagging girlfriend or his mother that he had to check in so much. But Claire always had eyes on him and he never talked unless he had to; Owen called in to hear _her_.

There was one incident that scared the crap out of her. A field team was deep into the park, somewhere northwest of the plains section of the Gyrosphere. At some point she’d looked up at the screens and had seen the remnants of the monorail, covered in flora and other things she probably didn’t want to know about. Owen was leading a team of six, guys that he had worked with before, but who were still new to the island. Owen had a reputation among those guys as being a hard ass and a stickler for the rules. He’d had the last guy who stepped out of line fired and sent home on his own dime. But he and Claire knew better than anybody that they couldn’t afford to take many risks; they were already being watched as it was, and they weren’t wanted there. The goal was to either capture or eliminate a pod of ankylosaurs. Owen wasn’t fond of them as it was. He’d known a guy who’d gotten his legs ripped off of him when he got in the way of a clubbed tail. Not pretty by any means. Not to mention, a flock of pteranodons had been spotted not far east of where they were headed. Owen was edgy.

When they closed in on the pod, there were five. That’s what their spotter, Martin, said: five dinosaurs, three adults, two babies. No one was very much surprised that the animals had been breeding while they were away. _Life always finds a way_. And who knew what the hell their biology was capable of; they were lab creations, not the real thing.  Claire didn’t like Martin. She’d met him once, and he was too cocky, way too sure of himself for an assignment like theirs. Maybe InGen thought they should send in these guys with buckets of self-confidence and fragile egos. Someone with a healthy dose of respect for life would have been a better choice. The group flanked the pod and tried to corral them into a controllable space in order to tranquilize them. Their focus was solely on the five animals so they didn’t notice the male charging right at them until Owen was nearly trampled. He had to leap to the side at the last minute, but caught the side of a leg. From the operations room, Claire was staring in shock at the screen until she saw Owen was completely off screen, landing somewhere beyond the scope of their vision.

“Lowery get him on the line!” she shrieked.

Lowery was punching buttons and pulling switching, clacking at his keyboard, “I can’t! The line’s dead, I can’t get him Claire.” His voice was so panicked that Claire felt her throat close up, felt her chest tighten. She could hear the roar of her pulse in her ears as she stared at the screen, willing Owen’s face to appear. Hell was breaking loose. The ankylosaurs were charging, swiping their tails at the InGen men, who were firing back their heavy artillery. It was madness. One of them took a bullet to the shoulder when he got caught in the crossfire. Another got his leg smashed. They briefly saw Owen dash across one and then two screens, knocking someone out of a tail’s way before rolling and firing his rifle. That’s when Claire realized she was breathing again. Lowery sent in an emergency call to air support, who was there in moments, gunning the animals down with heavy fire as the team made their sloppy retreat.

Claire was there to meet them as they came back to HQ, set up in the basement of the hotel. She was anxious and fuming and ready to slit the throat of anyone who got in her way. Walking furiously through the hall and into the foyer, people dispersed when they heard the clack of her heels. She scanned the crowd with a keen eye looking for Owen. Unfortunately, he was one of the last ones in through the main gate and looked a bit worse for wear. He was covered in mud and his sleeve was torn, but a quick once over showed her no blood and no obviously broken bones. Once they made eye contact, she picked up her pace, all but sprinting to him. He caught her in his arms as they collided. Claire completely ignored his grunt from the impact and wrapped her arms tightly around him, squeezing her eyes shut. Owen had lifted her somewhat off the ground, so that her heels were barely touching the floor.

“I’m good,” he whispered, “I’m okay. It’s all good.” Claire didn’t respond for a moment, just shoved her face into the crook of his neck and felt him tighten his hold on her. Then she took a deep breath and pulled back a little so he would put her down. Without speaking she did a cursory check of his person: clothes ripped, stained, and ruined; bruised ribs, not broken; bruise to his abdomen; twisted ankle. He also had a slight headache, but she couldn’t be sure if it was a concussion or not. As she checked him over, Owen told her what had happened from his end of things. It came down to this: they were told the area was clear, and it wasn’t. A shrug was all he could manage. Claire, not so much.

“You could have been killed,” she muttered darkly, not wanting to raise her voice in such a crowded area even if no one was paying them a bit of attention.

“But I wasn’t.”

“Because some asshole couldn’t be damned to do a proper scan.”

“Well, yes.”

From across the room, Martin called out to Owen and started to make his way over to the pair of them. Claire felt her eyes widen and her nostrils flair at the sound of his voice, and she briefly saw Owen’s widen in panic. He tried to stop her as she turned on her heel, but she threw him off and strode evenly in Martin’s direction. The man didn’t even have a breath to prepare before Claire was cocking her arm and her fist was in his face. People seemed to turn at the moment after impact, groaning sympathetically.

“ _Next time_?” she snarled out, “Double check your fucking scanner.” And she walked past Martin, who was doubled over, to the elevator. She turned just so to see Owen already at her side waiting for the car.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured, putting a hand to her back when the doors opened.

 This incident didn’t improve outside opinions of her, seeing as most of their teams had only met her in passing or only knew about her from the news. Unfortunately for them, Owen was quick tempered, which meant a few guys got a fist in the face or stomach. He didn’t like it when they talked shit about her.

“I used to say you were drag, another corporate drone, but I’d never call you a bitch. Or talk about your ass…” She cocked a brow, “to anyone but you…” She wasn’t shocked that he readily admitted it, since one of his better qualities was honesty.

Spending so much time with him in close quarters had taught Claire that Owen was not only honest, but dominant and protective. Even though he was goofy and cheesy in the sincerest way possible, she couldn’t forget the way he’d shoved his fist into Hoskins’ face when they confronted him about sending the raptors after I-rex. Not only was it satisfying to watch, but it had been hot as hell. The girls had been his family, and now, as he’d repeated several times, Claire was his family. And really, she should have seen it coming. It started out as holding open doors for her, stepping in front of people who would have cut her off in hallways, putting a hand out when someone stood too close, the way he kept a solid hand on the small of her back as they navigated rooms. There was one man in particular, one of the accountants, who took the brunt of his aggravation. According to Owen, he looked too long and stood too close. Owen didn’t like it, and said as much to the poor accountant whose name Claire never really remembered. She pointed out that he was acting like some lunatic caveman, and he scowled. “He’s a puke. And disrespectful.”

“You’re jealous.”

He put a forkful of pie into his mouth in a very matter-of-fact way, “Yep.”

Perhaps she should have said more about it, discouraged it, but she didn’t feel the need. She liked being under his watchful eye too much. Then, one of the lawyers got mouthy with her in the board room. The idea that she had been foolishly at fault for letting people into the paddock before it was cleared had circulated quickly, and there were some who didn’t think she had any right to be there. As Owen so often reminded her, her only mistake had been underestimating the Indominus, but so had everyone else, and that was because no one had any idea what they were dealing with. Considering that, the comment had been so inane as to be trite. Claire brushed by it without a second thought. Owen, however, he ripped into the guy for being an insensitive, ignorant dick. “Ripped” being a relative term; she’d never heard him speak so calmly and ruthlessly, even when they’d been hunting down I-rex. Owen then proceeded to explain to everyone in the room that besides him, Claire was the only one who’d been on the island during the incident, and that she was responsible for saving thousands of lives. When the lawyer asked him if he was finished, Claire shuddered sympathetically once Owen’s cold raptor-esque gaze whipped his way. She almost felt bad for the guy. Almost.

“No. But if you don’t shut the hell up and show this woman some fucking respect, _you_ will be.” This caused an uproar that took a minute to dispel as both men launched from their seats. It took four people to separate them, the lawyer yelling at Claire to get her “dog on a leash.” Three men were restraining Owen, who was fuming, staring down the lawyer. The shrink had told him his aggression was how he was dealing with his post-traumatic stress and anxiety. Outbursts were rare, but Claire had seen it; he would flare up and simmer out so quickly that she got whiplash. Instead of waiting for the natural simmer down, she promptly got up and stood in front of him, forcing him to make eye contact with her. It wasn’t difficult after all, the one touch got his attention. From there she removed the hands that restrained him, being sure to keep physical contact, and led him to the side.

“Are you okay?” she asked lowly. He nodded. “Good. Go take a walk.” Under her hands, Owen stiffened and she watched his eyes slide back to the others in the board room. “I’ll be fine,” she insisted, “I can’t do my job if you punch out everyone here.” He sighed heavily.

“Fine. But I don’t like that guy.”

“Not required. But you not getting sued is. So go. I’ll call if I need you.” Claire cringed as the door shut behind him. It took a second to shake off the feeling of his absence, but she managed, and then calmly took her seat again. There was still an issue to address.

“You’d do well to remember that he bonded with velociraptors, Mr. Cunnings, not dogs.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's short. Apologies. Reviews are love, lemme know what you think.

Two weeks in, one day before they were scheduled to leave, finding Blue was no longer necessary. Blue found them. Or rather, she found Claire.

After being cooped up inside and on the phone all day, Claire got the urge to take a walk. Alone. The search parties were dispersed all over the island, so she didn’t have to worry about Owen’s hovering. Their lawyers begged them not to wander anywhere alone, but Claire was armed. And besides, she figured that Owen was right, at least on the island they knew what they were up against. The sky was clear and the day was warm, and all she wanted to do was walk through the place that had once been the sole focus of her life. Her feet, slipped into her familiar high heels, took her over to Main Street near the Mosasaur’s tank. Zara had died there; their fight had ended there. It was a lot to process. She looked out over the restless water, taking in the gorgeous and temptingly calm atmosphere, and folded her arms across her body. Everyone said that was what made the island so surreal and special. It was so perfectly beautiful, so clean and pure. It was a piece of living history in the most literal sense. But there were pitfalls. Things designed to be perfect always succumbed to the flaws of something truly evil. Something perfect could crack under pressure, like glass, until it shattered completely. Perhaps the trick, then, was to work _with_ the flaws instead of against or around them, or instead of trying cover them up. The trouble was identifying the flaws, and Claire had never been all that introspective. That’s when she heard the hollow clicks. Turning around, she came face to face with Blue, who was not ten feet away, and had caged her in against the water.

“Oh boy,” she whispered, willing herself not to make any sudden movements or to take her eyes off the creature for a second. Blue hunched over and let out her hissing snarl that struck Claire cold. “Um, okay, okay,” very slowly and steadily, she raised her hands up and out like she’d seen Owen do a dozen times, keeping eye contact. “Shhhhh, hey Blue,” she said, “You know me, don’t you? Yeah, you do.” Blue cocked her reptilian head, letting out some clicks. Very slowly, Claire side stepped at a curve, careful not to cross her feet, so that her back wasn’t completely to the water. The simple fact was that she couldn’t outrun Blue. She couldn’t jump in the water, aqua-dino and all. Getting her to stand down was her best shot. “ _Stand down Blue_ ,” she commanded in her best board room voice. Owen would be so proud. Or he’d laugh. He was _always_ laughing at her. Steadily, she moved her hand out in front of her, “ _I said stand down!”_ The velociraptor snarled again, bending low, hands spread, but she didn’t move forward. So, slowly, Claire went for her radio and pressed the talk button.

“Owen?” They had a private channel. If he was within receiving distance, he could hear her.

_Sup Claire? Miss me?_

“How far are you from the Mosasaur exhibit?” she whispered, eyes still locked with Blue’s. Blue was watching her intently, swaying slightly.

_Uhhhh. I don’t know, a mile east, maybe? Why?_

Blue took a few steps in a circular movement, maybe gearing up to attack, maybe not. Claire sighed heavily, her hands starting to shake as the first bit of shock wore off. “ _Blue_ ,” she whispered. The raptor’s head tilted at the familiarity of the sound that identified her.

_Don’t move, okay? Don’t run. I’m coming._

The next minute was the longest minute of her life, staring down the only other woman in Owen’s life. And it struck her suddenly that that was absolutely the truth. These animals had been Owen’s whole world for so long. This one animal was so closely bonded with him that she’d taken on another of her kind twenty times her size to protect him. That was something they had in common. “He loves you more, you know that right?” she asked Blue quietly. It was strange that she hadn’t attacked, that she was waiting. Raptors didn’t wait. “Deranged as that is, he’s _always_ going to love you more.” And yeah, maybe talking was a bad idea, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself. “I never got the chance to thank you for what you did for me. For my family. You saved us.” She could hear the rumbling of Owen’s bike. “And you lost your sisters. I can’t even _imagine_ what that would be like…” Claire felt the inane urge to comfort the damn thing. This _monster_ that would just as soon eat her. Owen’s bike cut off somewhere in the near background, but she didn’t look away. “None of that should have ever happened. I am so, _so_ sorry.” Owen approached from the side, gaining Blue’s attention and a snarl, the kill shot loaded and ready. Blue eyed him, maybe in recognition, maybe not.

“You okay?” he asked quietly.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.”

“How’d you hold her off so long?”

“Don’t know. Just kept talking. It’s kind of like…Never mind.”

Blue threw her head back and let out a series of caws, and then brought her eyes back level to Claire’s, looking right at her. Instead of charging, like Claire swore she was about to do, the raptor took slow steps forward, just like Claire had. Owen whispered for her to stay very still. But Blue’s attention had gone to Owen, she sniffed the air and cocked her head, gurgling her recognition. From the corner of her eye, Claire saw Owen melt a little, and wasn’t at all surprised to see that he didn’t even have a finger on the trigger. He just looked so relieved to see her. Mentally, Claire made a promise to Blue that she’d take care of him, and for a split second Blue’s eyes darted to hers and Claire thought whimsically that the animal understood her. That was the heat talking, but it would have been nice if it were true. Blue let out another series of chirping clicks and started to trot in the opposite direction. Owen raised the gun to aim, but Claire stopped him.

“What are you doing?”

“I can’t let you kill her.”

“Claire…”

“No! You listen to _me_ for once! We leave tomorrow. No one’s seen Blue in the entire time we’ve been here. It’s just us. Maybe we don’t report it. Maybe we let her go. Don’t we owe her that?” Claire kept her hands on the gun, her eyes on Owen’s face which was entirely focused on Blue’s fading figure. She held him there for another few minutes until he lowered the gun of his own volition, and turned to look at her. He cleared his throat and shouldered the rifle.

“Thank you,” he croaked out. “Thank you, thank you.” The tears in his eyes didn’t escape her notice, making what she’d said to Blue more true than she realized. Making him kill her would have killed a part of him. All she could do was hold onto him, accept the soft kiss he pressed to her lips, and hope against all hope that they recovered. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This thing is looong, some of these chapters are not. Reviews are love.

So when it was all said and done, and they got back to the States, they made their report recommending the permanent closing of Jurassic World. Between Claire’s legal team, Owen’s adamant insistence that the larger animals could not be recaptured safely without human casualties, and Claire’s near constant threatening, the board relented. Press got wind of it within an hour or two, and Claire became not only the Hero of Jurassic World, but the reason it closed. The media loved and hated her; the public loved and hated her. Half of them wanted her to write a book or give some kind of tell-all interview, and the other half wanted to burn her alive. She became some kind of trashy tabloid celebrity overnight; everyone discussing her “secrets” and her love life like she’d been a media darling for years and had just fallen out of favor. Owen became a particular point of interest for them. They rode to the corporate offices together and back, they spent all of their free time together, and there were dozens of photographers following her from place to place capturing it on camera. Naturally they ended up in the paper or splashed across the TV. Owen found it highly entertaining. “They keep calling me your _lover_. How creepy is that?” Despite the lack of privacy and the annoying calls from Karen ( _That Owen? Like Awful Date Owen?_ ), the worst part was the living arrangements.

Claire was still on the company dime, being put up in a hotel until further notice while they decided what they were going to do with her. Owen originally went to stay with Barry, who’d gotten a job at the Smithsonian Zoo taking care of the big cats. To put it simply, going back to the island had resolved a lot of issues, but Claire had been ignoring her trauma for some time. Owen’s presence and the near constant stream of work had kept it at bay. But now she was home for good. Now she had to confront the rest of her life without stacks of paperwork to hide behind. She’d land on her feet, sure, but the anxiety built back up. Sleep came slow and it didn’t last.

The first night she woke up, she’d been screaming as Owen was flung into the jungle by Indominus Rex which turned on her while her nephews were being ripped to shreds by the raptors. She was covered in sweat and shaking, throat burning from very real screaming. The second time, it was Zara being tossed around by the birds through the sky, Claire trapped under rubble and unable to help her. The last time, Blue turned on Owen. And that was it, she just stopped sleeping. She stayed up all night with the TV on, staring at her phone while she debated whether or not to call Owen. He’d been on interviews the past few days, calling and texting when he had a spare moment. The daytime was _fine_ , it was the night she couldn’t handle. On the fourth night, Claire flopped onto the couch and turned the TV on again, flipping through the terrible shows on TV that she didn’t even recognize anymore. They’d been away for so long. Her phone started ringing and Owen’s name popped up on the screen. For about a second, she debated whether or not to answer. It was only 7 PM, he always checked in by 8. They were still in a nebulous “sort of” space. They hadn’t talked about anything. None of it. Not even once. And she wasn’t sure she wanted to. She didn’t want to disrupt this fragile bubble they’d created. Oh what the hell.

“Hey, you’re calling early. Everything okay?”

“Yeah , fine. Talking to the guys at the Smithsonian. They seem cool, but you know, everyone wants to talk about…”

“Yeah,” she said as she trailed off, “I know. That’s…I think it’ll get easier.” She hoped it would get easier. She hoped he could eventually move past losing what were essentially his children. Blue surviving was the one consolation he had, and she was happy to be the one to ensure he got it.

“That’s what they tell me…Anyway…this is going to sound super lame and unmanly…” That, at least, made her smile. “Can I come over? I just…” His voice caught a little, was quieter than she was used to. “I need to see you.” Claire fought through the stupid blush creeping across her skin. _For survival_ he’d said. Right. She agreed, made sure he knew which room, and was shocked when there was a knock at the door not two minutes later. She flung the door open to Owen in a white dress shirt and jeans. Her expression must have been priceless because he bent over laughing at it.

He straightened with a cough, “So I may or may not have been waiting in the lobby.” It was a quick one-two step, and then Claire tossed her arms over his shoulders, went up on tip toe, and kissed him. It was unlike the several gentle presses of reassurance they’d exchanged since they’d gotten back. It wasn’t the adrenaline fueled, thanks-for-saving-my-ass lip lock while the pteranodons flew around their heads. This was the first time she initiated it, and she relished the second she felt him respond, wrapping his arms around her back. He swung them around so they were squarely in the room, kicking the door shut behind them. She felt amazingly light and remarkably agreeable as he danced them toward the bed, lips never leaving hers; he sat down and pulled her into his lap, his hands moved up along her legs and torso to rest at her neck, keeping her firmly against him. But it was Claire’s hands they should have been worried about. They were gripping his biceps tightly, keeping her steady when she grazed over a lump a little harder than intended. Owen winced, letting out a little “agh!” and pulled back just so. Not quickly enough. The lump was a bandage, and she had dislodged it enough to start the wound beneath it bleeding again. She felt the dampness and shakily pulled her hand back to look at it.

It wasn’t covered, it wasn’t dripping, but there was a spotting of redness on her fingertips. The smell of blood and Owen in the same space took her right back there, in the thick of it. She shook so hard that she had to slide out of Owen’s grip and onto the floor, staring at her hand. “What..?” Vaguely, she recognized that Owen was calling her name, touching her shoulders and face, trying to talk to her, but there was a roar in her ears. Indominus Rex. The boys, terrified, dirty and bleeding. The air still smelled foul with blood and decay, fried food, and cement dust. Oh god, oh god, oh god. There was the pounding of the T-rex’s feet, the clacking of her heels on the pavement, the phosphorous that had dripped onto her wrist as she ran against the wind. I can’t make it, I can’t make it. Get to Zach and Gray. I have to get to Zach and Gray.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment in the thingy at the bottom, let me hear the critique!

“And I think that was the first time I thought I was really making headway with Blue. She actually saw me as a pack mate instead of food. Nobody else saw it, but…I just knew.”  When Claire came to, Owen had her cradled in his lap and was babbling story after story about the “Raptor Squad” as he liked to call them. His Raptor Squad. She was sweaty and still shaking, but she felt…better? It was weird. Her throat felt sore, she must have been screaming. Owen must have felt her shift, because suddenly his attention was back on her.

“Hey there, Red. Glad to see those green eyes of yours.”

“What happened?” she asked brusquely, half wanting to get up, half wanting to get more comfortable. “I thought I…”

“You kinda went nuts and passed out,” he said with a grimace.

“Owen!”

“Well, one second we’re ya know, and then you’re freaking about my bandage and on the floor in a ball screaming for Zach and Gray.” He shifted her in his arms to get more comfortable, and she squirmed to assist. Being right up against him, enveloped in his warmth, feeling his heartbeat under her hands, the entirety of her focus narrowed to those few square feet. Her heartbeat slowed, her breathing returned to normal. He was talking again.

“I read somewhere that when someone starts having a panic attack, it helps to have them anchored to something real or whatever. So like, physical contact, talking to ‘em. Stuff like that…” He kind of trailed off toward the end, awkwardly avoiding asking her what happened without the least bit of subtlety. In a way, she appreciated it, and reached to put a hand on his arm across from her, gripping just so. She nuzzled her face into his chest, and she felt a press of his lips and then his chin. It was mortifying, but she felt so much better like this. He held her for what felt like hours, stroking her hair, and telling her silly stories about his time in the Navy and training the girls. The rumbling of his voice in his chest was so soothing that she almost nodded off to sleep. She was _exhausted_ and Owen was so warm. “So… Claire?” She grunted something incoherent back, making him chuckle. “You wanna tell me what happened?” She didn’t respond. “It helps to talk about it. I mean, Barry and I talk it through.”

“You talk to Barry?” she asked, maybe a little hurt. She looked up at him, but he was already looking down at her. He kissed her forehead.

“Sure. Guy’s like a brother. And he raised the girls just as much as I did. I hope you don’t mind, but I told him about Blue. Didn’t seem right not to.”

Claire quickly rubbed up and down his arm reassuringly, “No, no of course. Barry’s family, he definitely should know.” He let out a breath he obviously didn’t know he’d been holding. Goober.

“Yeah, yeah, cool. Uhm. But, anyway…”

Claire let out a long breath. “I haven’t been sleeping since we got back.” She heard his grunt which must have meant agreement. With what, she didn’t know. “I keep having nightmares about that day…about things going differently.”

“Like you dying or something?” he asked. Claire sat up and pulled out of his lap, and sat back on her heels so she could look at him.

“No, like _you_ dying. Like the boys dying. I keep seeing Zara getting tossed around from that video,” her throat started to clench and tears were welling up in her eyes. She grabbed up his hands and kissed them. “I’m just frozen in place watching it.” She sobbed. “It’s awful,” Claire was all out crying now, shaking on her knees as Owen came to wrap his arms around her. “When I…When I saw the blood on my hand, felt it…I just…”

“Flashed back. You had a flash back,” he whispered, playing kiss after kiss on her temple and cheek. “I’m sorry about the blood. One of the tigers got too playful and nicked me.”

“It’s--,” she took in a heaving breath in between sobs, “it’s okay, I’m okay.”

“Yeah,” he said encouragingly, “yeah you are, honey. We’re all okay, we’re all good.”

“I…” she pulled back to get a breath, putting her hands on his shoulders.

“Tell me.”

“I need to see the boys,” she admitted in a rush. “I’ve called and I’ve talked to them, but I need to _see_ them and hug them and tell them I love them.  Owen, I _need to see them_.”

“Tomorrow.”

“Don’t you have interviews and…”

“Tomorrow. We’ll call your sister first thing.” He kissed her and used both hands to tilt her face up to his. “And I’d really _really_ like for you to tell me this stuff. All of it. Dreams, nightmares, all of it. I know I haven’t been coming to you, but between all the corporate and legal crap I didn’t wanna put it on you.” As he spoke, Claire moved her hands to his wrists.

“So from now on, we talk about this?” He murmured his assent, layering kiss after kiss on her lips, until she pulled back brows furrowed. “Do we talk about us?”

“Hell no.”

“Oh thank god,” she said going back in to kiss him.

Claire slept deeply  for a while that night, nestled in Owen’s arms, legs wound together. She kept her ear to his chest so that she could hear his heart beating. Eventually, he woke up in a cold sweat and jostled her awake, so they laid there for a time. Of course Owen had to ruin it by cracking a joke about her breasts being pressed up against him and if her eyes rolled any further, they’d roll right out of her head. Instead, she pinched his nipple and barked at him to go to sleep. He cheekily responded, “Yes ma’am.”

Owen started to settle in when confusion flashed across her face, so she levered herself up, “You said that like we’ve never been in the same bed before.” Weeks. They’d spent weeks sharing a bed.

“Not like _this_ ,” he answered, eyes still closed but thumb rubbing across her elbow. “You do this thing where you keep a foot of space between us, edges of the bed.”

“I didn’t realize that.”

“Yeah!” he said, eyes flying open. “It’s weird. You’ll scooch to the end, but face me and _usually_ you’ll get my wrist a death grip.”

“I _do not_!” She pinched his nipple again.

“Oww-uh, stop doing that!” He grabbed up her wrist and held it away from him, “And you do, by the way. Makes getting up to piss a bitch and a half.” Well that was mortifying. Claire tried to fight the blush that was creeping up, but was failing miserably, so she hid her face in his shoulder. “Watcha doing down there?”

“That’s so embarrassing,” she mumbled into his t-shirt. She definitely couldn’t fight the smile that crept over her face when he laughed.

“It was kind of cute, actually,” he chuckled, kissing the top of her head, “but I like this better.” He heard her whispered “Me too” and did his best not to tighten his grip on her.

“You wanna know something embarrassing?” She hummed her assent, “You were my second date after the Navy.”

“How is that embarrassing exactly?” 

“After I asked you out, I went out with one of the girls in the bodegas.”

That made her sit up in a flurry, “ _What_?”

“Yeah, did a dry run. Like a week before our date, I think? We just got bombed and…” He caught a glance of her expression and snapped his mouth shut. “So anyway, I was really nervous so I kind of figured if I wrecked it I could blame it on your itinerary.”

Claire had a hand covering half her face, “Sorry. Still stuck on the bodega girl.”

“It was self-sabotage. 100%. You were just so out of my league and I thought it would help get the jitters out. Didn’t. So I wore something stupid to piss you off. I was so relieved when you turned out to be a crazy control freak.”

 “I admit the itinerary was a mistake.” Claire was still on her knees attempting to understand what he was telling her. This was the guy who used to work with one of the most dangerous species of dinosaurs on the books. That took a certain level of confidence and security in your own abilities. He was handsome and physically fit, there was no reason for him to have been nervous _at all_. Well, besides the board shorts. That was something she didn’t understand even a little bit. “So that was your first date in…?”

“Three years? Maybe four.”

“It was my first in seven.”

Now he was sitting up, jaw dropped. “ _Seven_. Years. Wow. Okay.”

“I was with this guy in college, long story short, it didn’t work out, and after that I just focused on my career. Like, I really focused on it. I went on a few dates after, you know people trying to set me up, but they never work out.”

“Because of the itineraries?” She slapped him playfully. “Geez you’re violent.”

“ _Probably_ because of the itineraries. I just thought if I knew what was coming, I could relax and handle things. But apparently that makes you a _control freak_.” She had to look away. Owen obviously wasn’t the first person to say that to her. Plenty of people did, including her ex. And she’d been the “fun one” during her undergraduate years. But she was controlling and persnickety and particular about how things should be. _Organized. Efficient_. That’s how she’d always been; a perfectionist. Straight A’s, a perfect résumé, a perfect body. Those were things within her power to control. She could keep them clean. Pristine. Like the park had been before the Indominus Rex fooled them into believing she’d escaped. 

“Yes, yes it does.” 

She swatted at him, “You’re not supposed to say that!”

“Yeah,” he pressed a kiss to her lips, “but it’s true. Also, it was easier to say you were nutty and scary rather than admit that I liked you so much that I was nervous.” He tilted her chin to have her look at him again. “So how about this: We go out again.” She pinched her face up. “I don’t wear board shorts. You don’t plan everything. I’ll make the plans. And you find a diet that lets you drink alcohol.”

“Wine.”

“Deal.”

They shook on it, and Owen used their clasped hands to pull her in for a kiss. “You know,” she mumbled between lips, “that we’re gonna talk about Bodega Girl at some point.” She could feel the laughter in his chest again. It was a wonderful feeling, she loved his laugh. When he couldn’t contain it, it was uncontrollable and dorky.

“Figured,” he answered, nipping at her lower lip. She moved to straddle his lap, not letting her body press against his, their only points of connection were lips and hands, which he kept a firm grip on by weaving their fingers together. When the position got uncomfortable, his hands naturally fell to her waist and hers to his shoulders. Owen kissed aimlessly, without purpose or plan, just a low thrumming need to be closer. But he was slow, and cautious, letting her feel his movement, feel his intentions. So it was no surprise when he pulled her firmly against him. It was no surprise when he laid them back down, and rolled them to be on top. His dominance was a steady thing, something he would ask permission for at every step. And she gave it. Especially when he found the weak spot on her neck. Her ex told her once that it was such a bizarre spot, that women he’d been with weren’t sensitive there. Claire strived not to be offended, but it stung a little. Owen, however, didn’t seem to find it a problem. He kissed and licked there with gusto when she keened out an embarrassing whine. It had been a _long_ time since anyone paid attention to that spot. He didn’t tease her for it, just kissed a trail back to her lips, which she accepted eagerly, opening up to deepen the kiss, letting her legs fall to the side to give him more space, and threading her fingers through his hair. When she threw her leg over his hip to get more pressure where she wanted it, it was his turn to let out the whine.

“If we,” he said between kisses, “keep going like this…”she cut him off for a second with her lips and pushed up her hips just so. “Oh god…yeah, we won’t stop.” He pecked her lips before he pulled back to sit on his ankles and pointed at her, “and you gotta buy me dinner first.”

“Me?” she laughed and swatted at him.

“Yes,” he chirped, falling back to the bed right beside her. “You have to woo me first.

“Ugh, fine,” she agreed curling herself back into his side, one of his arms cradled her back and the other grabbed up her hand. He pressed a kiss to it and told her to go to sleep. And she did, easily.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thrive when I'm being yelled at. Someone point out some grammar issues. Anything.

The next morning while Owen jumped in the shower (he’d sneakily brought an overnight bag that she never noticed) Karen happily agreed that they should come over for the weekend. Karen’s voice reached that cheerful, shrill pitch that only dogs could hear as she told her sister the place they could go for lunch and things they could do with the boys. Apparently they were on summer break and driving her insane now that their father had officially moved out. “They’re getting back to bickering again. I love them, but seriously, I will send them to summer camp if I have to.” Claire listened with a small smile as her sister babbled happily to her for a few minutes. After assuring Karen that they’d be there in a by late evening, Claire hung up and found Owen watching her from the bathroom doorway. He was every bit as startling as his raptors, and she was once again blushing in front of him after tamping down the urge to jump.

“What?”

“Nothing, just like to see you happy.” Claire had to bite her lip to keep from smiling when he winked at her and ducked back into the bathroom.

They quickly decided to drive instead of fly; neither one of them was doing so hot in the mental state department. Being confined in a small space mid-air with a hundred other people during a panic attack was not very appealing. The drive was about thirteen hours long, but for them it was longer. Construction and highway noises that sounded too deep and rumbling caused Claire to start shaking, and Owen got jumpy whenever a plane flew overhead. So there were a few unplanned stops. They both insisted it was fine. It had to be _fine_ that this was their life now, constantly vigilant for oncoming danger. But there was a lightness between them that was new, a playful flirtatiousness that they finally allowed themselves to indulge in. Owen insisted she drive and then proceeded to subvert every single road trip rule in existence; the first was control of the music. Naturally, he was far more into classic rock while she preferred laid back indie music with a little bit of classical thrown in. Somehow, they agreed on Metallica (since she had a CD of them playing with the San Francisco Symphony). Owen played punch-buggy (by himself which meant Claire got punched a lot) and ignored the fact that she’d bought an E-Z pass to get through the tolls and had scheduled stops at specific gas stations along the way. She ignored the fact that they missed their scheduled times by thirty minutes to an hour because Owen couldn’t handle the smell of gasoline. As soon as they parked, he had to walk a mile down the road and wait for her there. The first time he smelled it, he puked. Later in the car, he told her that he’d covered up his scent with gas from one of the construction trucks when the I-rex got loose. He could smell it on himself for days afterward, like it seeped into his pores. It sucked because that meant he wouldn’t be working on a bike anytime soon.

“All the books say that smells can be the strongest triggers for post-traumatic stress. We’ll take it slow, yeah?”

“Books. As in plural? You have read more than _one_ book on the subject?”

She shrugged. “I needed to check sources…” Owen’s booming laugh was infectious and it took them more than a minute to compose themselves and get back on the road.

The one thing Claire never understood about her sister was her decision to stay in their hometown, Madison. Claire went to an East coast school. Claire took a job in New York. Claire took an assignment in Costa Rica. Karen was born and raised in Madison, then birthed and raised her own kids in Madison. Who the hell wanted to stay in one place all their lives? Owen couldn’t answer that question. “Army brat. I lived in ten different places before I turned 15.” But when they crossed into the state line that night, Claire was taken back by how familiar it seemed. They were an hour and a half outside Madison, and it already felt like home. Safe.

Wisconsin was nothing like D.C. or Isla Nublar. It was flat, it was temperate, and everything smelled like fertilizer or cheese. Or fresh cut grass because living in Wisconsin meant you cut your grass once a week from April to late October. There was nothing tropical about it beyond a little humidity. There weren’t reporters lurking in alleyways waiting to surprise you. And even better, Zach and Gray were there. When they passed into the city limits, Owen offered his hand without being asked for it because he could see on her face that her heart was in her throat, her belly was in knots. She felt sick and energetic, and lord would she feel so much better if she could just hug those stupid kids. When they pulled into her sister’s driveway, it was well past 11. In spite of her disastrous first years as an aunt, Claire was still given a set of house keys, so they let themselves in. Claire was stunned to find the boys on the couch, Zach fully alert and watching a movie, Gray slumped into his brother’s side.

“Aunt Claire!” he said, shaking Gray, “Wake up, they’re here!” Zach bounded off the couch, leaving his brother to be jostled awake, and enveloped his aunt in a hug. Every muscle in her body relaxed at the contact, the familiar shape and smell of her nephew, the signs that he was still growing, his steady breathing told her he was alive, he was fine. She put her nose against the side of his head and pressed a kiss there.

“Mmm, missed you guys.”

The boy beamed up at her, “Gray’s been talking non-stop since you called this morning. We wanted to wait up for you.”

“I have _not!_ ” Gray grumbled from the couch before darting to hug his aunt as well. He slid his arms around her waist and shoved his face into her side, knocking into her with that little boy force which couldn’t be labelled gentle. She ran her hand through his floppy hair and dropped a kiss to his head too.

“We were excited too, drove straight through,” Owen said clapping Zach on the shoulder. They shook hands without Zach relinquishing his hold on his aunt. Gray, suddenly energized, zipped around her to knock into and latch himself to Owen’s side.

“You mean, _I_ drove,” she teased, which made Zach snort a little. On the island, Owen had done all of the driving because he knew the layout better than her, but her controlling tendencies did not allow her to be driven everywhere just because someone said they were a better driver. Zach, apparently, found his aunt to be hilarious, and the polar opposite of his mother. Owen just waved her off, dropping down to his haunches and pulling something out of his bag.

“So I brought you some stuff from the island, little man.” He of pulled out a glass coke bottle half filled with oddly shaped teeth. “Raptor baby teeth.” He handed the wide eyed boy the bottle. “T-Rex talon. We found it in the rubble when we were searching the place.” He handed the thick, curved bit of bone to him. “And,” this came from the duffle bag this time. It was a thick book bound in leather, “A nerd book from the king of nerds. Doc Wu didn’t clean out his office, so it was kind of a free for all in there. Nabbed this for you.” It was a reference book, like an encyclopedia of every known species of dinosaur.

“ _Ohmygodthisissocool! Thankyouthankyouthankyouuuu!_ ” Only Gray was capable of the ear-bursting pitch his mother reached. He wrapped his arms around Owen’s neck and squeezed. Owen winced and his eyes bugged out, but he accepted the hug. Claire, now standing next to Zach with one arm over her shoulder, had to stifle a laugh. Zach didn’t.

“Dude, relax. You’re choking him.”

Gray finally pulled back, looking a little embarrassed, “Sorry,” but it was short-lived. He dashed over to the couch to look at his treasures. For Zach he brought a deactivated Taser, like the one they’d used on the island and a raptor talon. It was black and curved more sharply than the T-Rex talon.  There were nicks in it, a couple of small chucks taken out. The back end was smooth, rather than jagged on the surface, like it had been cut.

Owen explained, “I was ten when my parents took me out to volunteer at a paleontological dig site. Dr. Alan Grant was giving a short presentation on hunting patterns among velociraptors. I was a dumb kid, we’d just moved again and I didn’t want to be out in the sun learning boring stuff about dead animals.” He held the talon out, “I was disrespectful. Dr. Grant showed me that, gave me a lesson in raptors I wouldn’t forget, and then he gave me this. That’s how I started working as animal trainer. And when I got out of the Navy, and they offered me that job at the park, working with the girls, I jumped. I never forgot what Dr. Grant said to me. And I don’t want you to forget that you got outta there, that you got Gray outta there. So, this is yours.” Zach took the talon reverently, like it was something fragile and sacred. The boy, as usual, seemed to be in awe of the dinosaur trainer, looking up at him like he was a god. Which wasn’t far from the truth, if you had to ask Claire. She watched all of this slightly teary-eyed. Owen was absolutely attached to the boys since they returned from Isla Nublar. When he couldn’t snatch the phone from her mid-sentence, he called to ask how they were doing. He always talked about having them come down for a visit, or going up to visit them. _Don’t you think Gray would love that?_ Or, _What does Zach wanna do after high school? He should start thinking about it. I got some Navy buddies in high places._ Tragedy and danger seemed to bond people quicker than super glue these days.

“This is…” the boy gazed at the man who had quickly become his hero, “this is awesome. Thanks.” Zach did his best to stifle his excitement and went to show his brother. Claire couldn’t take her eyes off of them.

“I didn’t know you…” she started, blindly reaching for his hand.                        

“Yeah, it helps to have something solid. Reminds you it was real. That you’re alive. A lot of guys I knew who saw combat said it helped. They took rocks or anything they could shove in their pockets just to know they were there.”

“Did you?”

“Some of us got scars instead.” She squeezed his hand an apology. He squeezed back.

“Okay boys, I think it’s time for bed?” It was an honest to goodness question. When the _hell_ did kids go to bed? Karen was obviously asleep, and usually she would be too. So she figured it was her job to make sure they shuffled off to their rooms. Both boys looked up at her and then at each other.

“Can we stay with you?” The question rang like an echo in their ears. Claire had to physically shake the sound of their screams out of her head. “The guest room has a king,” Zach told them. Owen looked at her and shrugged. They immediately put their trinkets down when she agreed and they showed them the guest room. Apparently, Karen didn’t really believe they weren’t together, and had only set up the one room. She could only roll her eyes when Owen’s eyebrows shot up his forehead; she was going to get so much crap from him for this, she just knew it. Owen tossed their bags into a stuffed chair and went to clean up and change while Claire slid into bed next to Zach on his left, Gray was on Zach’s right. Gray plopped the reference book into Zach’s lap and told him to quiz him. And it went that way, Zach asking his younger brother questions until they nodded off to sleep. Claire quickly got up to change and got back into bed as Owen came out. There was something indescribably soft about his expression when he saw them there. But they didn’t say anything about it. He just moved to lie down next to Gray, and they all were soon asleep.

The next morning, Claire woke to a completely empty bed. She’d slept so soundly that she didn’t hear any of them get up. As she did every morning, she neatly made the bed and then wandered down the hallway to the kitchen. Some kind of Top 40 station was playing quietly, and the boys were on the couch watching TV as she passed it. In the kitchen, she found her sister cooking up breakfast. The second Karen saw her she was wiping her hands and cooing. “Awww, little sister, I’m so glad you’re here!” They both went in for a hug this time, Claire holding her sister tight before releasing her. “Was the drive okay? I really thought you guys would fly in…” Claire slid onto one of the island stools and filled Karen in about the drive, gratefully accepting the coffee placed in front of her.

“Where’s Owen?” she asked suddenly, looking around. The quick panic rose up and clenched her throat, she could feel the unwanted adrenaline shoot through her limbs and belly. God, would she ever not panic when she didn’t have eyes on him. But Karen just smirked.

“He went on a run. Insisted that he would be back before you got up anyway. And told me to remind you that you’ve got a tracking app on your phone, _so_ _chill_.” Karen attempted to imitate his voice miserably. Claire let out a huge, rushing sigh of relief, letting her shoulders slump even though she was embarrassed that Owen knew her well enough to joke about her to her family. Karen cocked a brow. “I take it you’ve had this conversation before?”

Claire took a gulp of coffee before answering with a nod, “Yeah, we uh…we’re working on it? He was going out into the park when we were on the island. Sometimes they’d go really early, and I just got used to being able to know where he was all the time. When we got back…”

“Wasn’t the same?”

“You’d think I’d worry less, you know? Being back home, but…”

“You freak out, huh?”

“He does too, a bit. Calls if I don’t text him back within a minute.” Karen made a face. “We’re adjusting,” Claire snapped a bit huffily right at the moment Owen bounded through the door. Right, because her life was a goddamn sitcom.

“Who’s adjusting to what?” he asked walking into the kitchen and taking the glass of water Karen handed him.

“You and me. To being back.”

“Ah.” He downed the water and shook his head. “Not really.” Karen laughed at Claire’s obvious leap to protest. It was the businesswoman in Claire that led her to candy coat everything with everyone. That instinct didn’t go away just because she ran from and killed dinosaurs. So she snapped her mouth shut sheepishly and bit the inside of her cheek. Owen was sweaty and glowing from the adrenaline after his run. She subtly ran her eyes down his torso and legs before glancing back at Karen who was getting over her giggle fit.

“Admittedly, both of us could be doing better,” she said. Owen moved slightly closer to her, and she got a nose full of that scent which had become familiar to her. Sweat and pheromones unique to Owen Brady. She could smell the jungle again. The rancid smell of blood boiling in the tropic heat. Then she felt Owen’s overheated hand on her shoulder, and he was talking to her. “We’re in Karen’s kitchen, Claire. How’s that coffee, hm? Get a good whiff of it.” He must have lifted the mug to her nose because she quickly inhaled the coffee and felt the jungle fade in her mind’s eye. Coffee was home. It was Wisconsin. It was early mornings before meetings. She blinked hard and the kitchen came back into focus, Karen’s face distressed and horrified.

“Oh,” she said softly, looking up at Owen who was once again already watching her, “sorry. I didn’t mean to…” Karen was quick to reassure her, turning off the stove and going to her side. She asked if either of them were seeing a therapist, were they having trouble sleeping? There had to be something that would help. The conversation continued over breakfast despite Karen’s hesitation to discuss it in front of the boys.

“No offense, Karen, but it’d be better for them to know early on that they _have_ to talk about it. Knew plenty of guys in my day who didn’t. They’re not here anymore.” So they talked. Gray talked about his nightmares, how he was always running from something and bleeding. That he couldn’t find Zach, and he was lost in the jungle. Zach had panic attacks. He’d hear a woosh or see an oddly shaped shadow, something would drop to the floor in a thump. He would just zone out or curl up into a ball. Everyone experienced it differently. They both agreed that being near their brother helped keep them calm. They asked Claire to talk about her nightmares, and she gave them a few generic scenarios, her fears were more graphic than a ten year old’s so she tried to water it down. Owen talked about his panic attacks, especially about the drive and his triggers. He was good at explaining, good at joking about it; his humor was like armor against all of the dark things he’d seen. And that was the thing, he was deadly serious and goofy at the same time. They were talking about post-traumatic stress from watching people get _eaten_ by dinosaurs, and he was joking that he hurled when he smelled gasoline because he’d drenched himself in it to hide from the I-rex. It was good to hear the boys laugh, good to see them smiling and eating instead of screaming. Despite the topic, Claire felt herself relax, especially when Owen’s arm snaked over her shoulders while they talked to the boys. It was such a casual thing that she couldn’t even protest that the kids were there. She leaned into his touch and studiously ignored the wry grin on Karen’s face. She was a grown woman, damn it, and if she wanted to keep this whatever it was kind of relationship, she would damn well do so.

It was a Saturday, so they decided to drive over to the farmer’s market. The boys were meeting some friends and Karen said she needed to get some groceries for dinner. They could meet up for lunch at that restaurant on Main Street that Claire used to like? They split up after driving into town, and Claire took Owen on the full circuit tour of the square. Not very much had changed in the way of stands and available products. Greens, flowers, cheese curds, and meats. She did more people watching than shopping. They were out in full force that day, it was a warm summer morning, no rain in the forecast, everything smelled fresh or fried, and it was so…normal.

“I can’t believe how calm everyone is. Just going about their lives like nothing’s changed,” she said as they walked and weaved through the crowds. “Like people didn’t die.”

“Well, it hasn’t. Not for them. Dinosaurs killing people over three thousand miles away? Unreal. Great thing about humans, they just keep truckin,” he told her as he shoved another few cheese curds in his mouth. “It’s a survival instinct. As a whole, we can’t let tragedy like that affect us too much, damages the morale.”

She cocked a brow, “And where did you read that?”

He scoffed, “Sorry, professor, I forgot to write down my sources.” He tossed her a fake pout, “Don’t fail me.” Claire gave him the stink eye and swatted him playfully, he tried to dodge it and made a face, mouthing “So violent.” That made her laugh. For a moment, she tried hard to remember the last time she’d laughed so much. Well…the day Owen asked her out the first time. Before they realized they were completely incompatible, Owen had been charming and funny in a way that wasn’t patronizing or sexist. He genuinely liked his job and had no problem telling her that he didn’t trust corporate to run the park the right way. At first, she had written it off. But then the board shorts, itinerary, and her total discomfort with drinking around strangers got in the way. What had Jack told her? Something charming about a stick up her ass. That may or may not have been the reason she reacted so poorly to the teasing about her need to plan. If she had been a little less defensive, the date _might_ have gone better. She was _not_ relenting on the board shorts though.

They eventually got through everything and Claire wanted to cool down, so they went inside city hall. It was huge, mostly marble, with a rounded top. It was a miniature of the Capitol Building in D.C. and probably one of Claire’s favorite places in the world. They went to climb to the top, where there was an outdoor landing so you could look out over the city. Madison was a pretty town in its own right, but she thought the view was never better.

“You know, I like this place,” Owen said suddenly.

She looked up at him, his focus was on the water just beyond the university. It was a clear day, so they could see pretty much everything. And she could definitely see that look in his eye. _A raptor looks at what it wants_. “Yeah?” she responded, trying to sound casual.

“Yeah, it’s cool. Nice people, good cheese.”

She laughed, “Can’t beat good cheese.” They both felt the conversation about to rapidly get serious, and she felt the pressure creeping up in her belly, the oncoming blush. Naturally, Owen broke the tension.

“I’m surprised you’re not fatter.”

“What is _that_ supposed to mean?”

“I’m just saying, if I lived here for any period of time as a kid, I would have been so fat. Just cheese curds, in my mouth, all of the time.”

Claire plucked the bag out of his hands and he made a distressed cat noise, “No, you have a _problem_.” She popped one into her mouth and started to walk toward the exit. “And how do you know I wasn’t fat as a kid?” She chuckled when she heard his fast approach, and whined a little when the bag was swiped out of her hands. He looked excited.

“I am _so_ asking Karen for pictures.”

They wandered around a bit until it came time to meet Karen and the boys for lunch. The place she loved was called The Old Fashioned. It opened fifteen years before, had all the Madison classics, burgers, beer, and fried cheese. Owen was not quiet about voicing his surprise that _she_ liked _this_ place. He just kept staring at it and then at her, then back at the restaurant. Hands dramatically on his face, mouthing “oh my god” every time he saw something “Not Claire.” Like, waiters in jeans. People drinking out of cans. Bottled water when tap was just as good. Fried food. _Beer_.

“It’s like I don’t even know you,” he whispered theatrically as he followed her to the _booth_ where her family waited. She turned slightly as she walked and winked.

“Maybe you don’t.”  She was perfectly aware that his eyes were squarely on her ass, so she may have put a little more swing in her hips.

“Ohhh,” he murmured from right behind her, “I am _loving_ this side of you.” She had to smack his hands off her hips as they came into her family’s view, which made him laugh and kiss the back of her head. She reached back to pinch him just as they started exchanging greetings. The boys were all excited to tell her about the things they wanted to do while they were there and what the best things on the menu were. Gray chattered about his friends and their families and how they were all jealous he had been at Jurassic World when the I-rex got out. And they were jealous he knew Claire and Owen; they had been on TV a lot and there were tons of pictures from that day, even one of Claire shooting the dimorphodon that had attacked Owen. Actually, that picture was pretty awesome, or as Owen liked to say, hot. He kept threatening to print a blown up version to hang up. The public considered them heroes, even if they didn’t believe it themselves.

The food was just as amazing as Claire remembered. To Owen’s shock and amazement, she ordered one of their larger burgers with fries and a tall beer. “What?” she asked between mouthfuls when he kept gaping at her, “I wasn’t _always_ on a diet…”

“Claire used to win eating contests…” Karen said in a sing songy voice around a fry. The boys started laughing, they had definitely seen those pictures from fairs and restaurants. Owen’s mouth opened slowly and dramatically, he was just giddy. Claire threw her fries at her sister.

“ _Damn it_ , Karen!”

“Please tell me it’s true.”

The sisters were still staring at each other, “What?” Karen asked innocently, “It’s true, isn’t it? You and dad used to work the circuit.”        

Owen whipped his head to Karen, “ _Shut up_.”

“You _swore_!”

“Eh, that’s debatable.”

“Please tell me there were hot dogs, please,” he held up a finger in a waiting gesture.

“Oh, were there hot dogs. _Loads_.”  Claire dropped her head into her hands as Owen jumped from his seat with a whoop and a fist pump. The boys were falling out of their own seats they were laughing so hard. Karen was clapping her hands at Owen’s excitement. He collapsed back into his seat, running hands through his hair.

“Oh my god, I’ve never been so excited about anything in my life. Pictures?”

“Yup.” He held up a squeezed fist in victory. Claire’s head had sunk to the table.

“This is the best day ever. Eat up boys, the Humiliation of your Aunt Claire, awaits.” So, of course, they tucked in and finished in ten minutes. Claire protested all the way home, claiming that she had been betrayed and this was humiliating and awful and why was everyone picking on her? Gray could only shrug. Owen just high fived Zach and they laughed at her.

Once back at the house, Karen enlisted Zach to help her find and bring out the old family photos. Gray had to go make a quick call to their grandmother, a scheduled thing according to him. So Owen pulled Claire into the privacy of the guest bedroom. He shut the door quietly, and then turned to take a few decisive steps toward her. He didn’t stop when he reached her, just picked her up and walked her to the wall where he held her up and kissed the crap out of her. Claire just went with it, wrapping her arms and legs around his trunk and pressing herself against him. For once she was up, was looking down at him instead of vice versa. He nipped and tugged at her lower lip, hands digging into her ass. She kept her hands on his neck, trying to catch her breath as he moved to her cheek and neck, to the spot she loved and she knocked her head back to the wall. Owen kept constant pressure against her, pressing and pressing closer and in, as close as he could get fully clothed in her sister’s house. When he turned his attention back to her mouth, he was brutal and dominant, not giving her an inch of latitude. He opened her up, and curled his tongue against hers. And Claire just submitted, she absorbed every ounce of energy, and she responded in spades. Shit, she was so turned on, wanting more than this, wanting to rip his clothes off if she was being honest, but they were at her sister’s house. In five minutes, they’d be pounding on the door wondering where they were. So instead, she softly stopped them with her mouth, gently breaking it off.

“They’ll be waiting,” she muttered when he dropped his head to her chest. He nuzzled and pressed kisses there before lowering her to the ground. Claire kept her arms insistently around his neck, tipping her head back to let him press lazy pecks to her lips.

“I love this, all of it, getting to see this side of you,” his hands traced up and down her sides, stopping every so often to grip and pull her back to him. She scrunched up her face.

“It’s a pretty gross side.”

“Even better.”

“I’m getting nauseous just thinking about it.”

“I can’t even picture it, uptight, prim and proper Claire Dearing chowing down on fifty hot dogs a minute.”

“It was 55.” She pulled back. “You think I’m uptight?”

Working with raptors had taught Owen Grady how to handle temperamental animals when they were about to turn dangerous. He could see the signs. And while this wasn’t the same thing, he could recognize something brewing on the horizon. So instead of teasing, he shrugged.

“Meh, you act like it to keep the guys you work with in place, but not really.” He put his hands squarely on her shoulders and looked her dead in the eye. “And we’re about to see some proof of that.” He raised his brows, “Race you,” and before she could respond he was out the door and yelling for Karen to hurry up with the pictures before Claire found a lighter. With a heavy sigh, she followed behind reluctantly, stopping in the hallway entrance that opened up into the living to watch the boys dig through photos. And yes, it was definitely embarrassing listening to Karen tell stories about their parents and childhood, and every single county fair she ever ate at, but it was also kind of nice. Their parents really had been wonderful and those were some of her best memories with her father; it was something they shared. Something odd, but it was something. Not to mention, Owen’s face every time he found another picture of her was priceless. He crowed out for each one and started laughing.

“Oh my god, Claire you were so _chubby_! Have you seen this? This is like Christmas.” His favorites were the ones her mother had taken of her mid-contest. “I _need_ this picture, Karen, I need to have it with me at all times, forever.”

Claire thought she was taking the harassment in stride. It was nice to be teased about something so normal. Usually she was fielding stupid jokes about being a woman and wearing heels all the time. At least this was something she kind of deserved to be teased about. After a few minutes the boys got into telling Owen family stories, some including Claire, some not. It didn’t escape her notice that Owen still had a hold on the picture of her when she was 8 and overweight at a hot dog eating contest in Green Bay. Karen wandered over to where her sister stood.

“So he’s…”

“A five year old? Definitely.”

Karen pursed her lips to hold in a laugh, “I was going to say wonderful, but sure, that works too.”

“Yeah, he kind of is.”

“And _this_ is the guy who showed up for a date in board shorts?”

“Yes.” They both shared a laugh when Owen pointed a blind finger back and chastised them for talking about the Board Short Debacle. “Raptor hearing, ladies, I learned it.” Claire just grabbed a balled up pair of socks and threw it at him, complaining when he caught it. She turned to see Karen smirking at her. It was the same smirk she always had whenever Claire had been up to something when they were kids, or whenever Claire lied about anything. Karen just _knew_ things.

“Okay, what?” she asked huffily, caving into to the stupid Big Sister Stare.

“Your hair’s a little mussed in the back.”

Claire went beet red, which was pretty red considering how pale she was, and bit her bottom lip. Her brain was torn between being embarrassed and remembering exactly how her hair had gotten that way. So, as she often did in board meetings when she had to put on a poker face, she clasped her hands in front of her body near where her lap would be and raised her chin.

“Yes, yes it is.”

Karen let out a low whistle, “My word, the Claire I know would _never_ let a single hair get out of place.”

“Well big sister, getting chased and nearly eaten by dinosaurs tends to change your perspective on life.”

“Apparently so.” She shifted and crossed her arms over her chest, “I’m impressed.”

“Thank you.”

“Not by you, by him. Owen.”

“Well sure, he was a Navy SEAL, trained big cats for films and television. He was the only man on Isla Nublar who could get the raptors to behave even a little. They called him the Raptor Whisperer in the corporate office….”

Karen interrupted with a hand to her shoulder, “Claire-bear, I meant with _you_.” When Claire just looked confused, she continued. “It’s just that since he’s been around, you’re more like the old you. You before Masrani. You before Jack…”

“Karen…”

“No I’m serious. Look. He just seems to inspire that old confidence in you, you know? You’ve always been so sure of your work and of your plans, but I think maybe he’s reminding you that you’re capable of handling the things you can’t plan for.”

“Like my sister stabbing me in the back and telling him about every eating contest I ever won?”

“Yes,” she laughed, “like that.” Karen snaked her arms around her little sister’s shoulders from the side, kissed her temple, and turned her head to watch her boys. “It’s so good to hear them laugh so much. I’m glad you both came, they needed this.”

“So did we,” Claire said returning the hug, “so did we.” 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something must be inconsistent, let me know. Reviews are love.

As the son of an Army Ranger and a Navy man himself, Owen had been long conditioned to be an early riser, but 4 AM was pushing it, even for him. Not that it was planned. Nightmares yanked him from sleep, pulled him from bed. Instead of waiting around or trying to find something to occupy his time, he threw on his sneakers and went for a run. What he liked about Madison was the hills. He’d gotten used to running on hilly terrain, pushing himself even at an incline. D.C. was all flat pavement. Despite the early hour, the sky was starting to lighten. The air was cool and wet, perfect running conditions. He set himself at a quick pace, starting down the road he’d taken the morning before.

The nightmare had been about Claire. Claire standing on the edge of the park, water below, and Blue caging her in. Owen never told her how that image made him flashback to their throw down with the I-rex, and that seeing her there set off so many alarms in his head that he could barely think straight. He was insanely grateful that Claire had stopped him from putting Blue down. Mind-blowingly grateful. He’d vomited several times just thinking about having to do it. But in his dream, everything played out differently. He’d shown up too late. Blue had already ripped into Claire, not for food, but for sport. A monster like the I-rex. Owen watched helplessly as the creature he’d raised from a hatchling knocked the broken, lifeless body of the woman he was only just starting to love into the water where that hellbeast waited to swallow her whole.

That’s how most of his dreams went; getting there too late. Not being able to stop the bloodshed. Even from his time in combat. Barry said he had some crazy overblown hero complex that made him feel so guilty. “You weren’t too late, my friend. A lot of people survived because of you and Claire. What might have been has passed, it can’t happen now. So don’t think about it.” Easier said than done, in Owen’s opinion, which was the only opinion that counted.

He blamed the nightmare on a fight with Claire after dinner. She was being nitpicky about…something. It was so unimportant that he couldn’t even remember what it was that annoyed him. That led to bickering. That led to Claire getting tense and panicky to the point that she started crying. When he tried to help, she’d snarled out, “Stop looking at me like that! I’m not one of your raptors!” It rapidly devolved from there. Resentment rose like bile. They’d had plenty of fights after the island. Plenty of arguments about blame and poor decision making. But it was the first time Claire had ever blamed herself. It was the first time he’d ever backtracked in his commentary on corporate decision making enough that she could call him out on it. “I’m not an exception just because I helped clean it up!” It was the first time she brought up Zara. Zara who had been engaged. Zara who wasn’t even supposed to be there because she had planned on going home for wedding planning. Zara who died horrifically because Claire couldn’t focus on anything but work. Owen met her once, and she was okay. But all he’d ever noted about her was that she was corporate, and not among the list of people he trusted. It had taken them both awhile to calm down, regardless.

He didn’t start feeling that familiar burn in his legs until he hit the thirty minute mark. Honestly, he had no clue where he was, but he figured he could circle around again until he found his way. Going back to the house was out of the question until dead-Claire was out of his head. So, as he ran, he played a game he’d come up with to remind himself that surviving was a good thing, that everything else was out of his control. Ten Reasons, he called it. He’d think up ten reasons he knew the person was alive and well, and how that reason benefited him. Sometimes, every reason was that their being happy just made him happy. Sometimes, that was enough. Ten Reasons for Claire was a bit trickier than that.

1\. They’d gotten off Isla Nublar together. They’d been in the same plane with the boys and their parents. They sat right next to each other. Claire had a habit of falling asleep during flights and fell asleep on his shoulder. This benefited him because Owen had gotten too comfortable with being alone; just him and the girls. Now that the girls were gone, Claire easily stepped into their spot. 2. Claire had made damn certain the park would never be re-opened. Owen didn’t get all the corporate and legal jargon, but essentially, she’d walked into those meeting rooms with a loaded gun pointed at their balls. Figuratively speaking, of course. Apparently she knew a dozen or so senators and congressmen willing to lend her legal teams to keep her campaign strong. This benefited him because he knew for damn certain that during his lifetime, he’d never have to hear about another dinosaur killing or being killed. 3. Blue hadn’t killed Claire, Claire didn’t let him kill Blue. That was something he still hadn’t wrapped his brain around. There was no reason for Blue to not attack Claire, no reason for Claire to survive that encounter. Maybe Blue recognized her scent, or maybe Claire had some dino-powers of her own. Owen didn’t know. But Claire had returned the favor. This benefited Owen because now he could believe that Blue would live the life she was supposed to and die naturally instead of by a bullet.

4\. They’d shared a bed every night except the three nights they’d been apart. And those nights had been brutal, far worse than last night. His dreams were less vivid, less gory, when he knew for certain that she was right next to him. Was she becoming a crutch? Maybe, but who’s to say that wasn’t a good thing? There were no downsides to having Claire in his bed. 5. When he was with her, he didn’t drink. Claire wasn’t a big drinker due to her control issues. Owen actually had no problem with this. His father had been a drinker, possibly an alcoholic, and Owen tended to pick up bad habits when he was feeling sorry for himself. His first weeks out of the Navy were hazy at best, but he hadn’t touched a drop after the island. It benefited him because for the first time in his life, he was coping in a healthy way instead of through work or booze. 6. She wanted to see her nephews. Proven fact: people who had something to live for survived more often than not. If she understood that her presence, her mental health, and her well-being affected the boys, she would strive to be better. That’s how Claire was wired, even if she didn’t quite know it yet. It benefited him because he didn’t _have_ to take care of her. He could, he would, but she could manage things without him. Loads less pressure. 7. She was talking. Owen knew ghosts who were shells of the men they’d been before they saw combat, before they lost friends and brothers in the line of duty. They thought if they didn’t talk about it, then it wasn’t real. If they didn’t acknowledge their lack of control and blamed solely themselves, then it wasn’t random and they were being punished through their suffering. It was easier to be miserable than to move on. Claire wasn’t wallowing, they talked about what happened. They acknowledged their part in it. Her recovery would help his.

8\. She wasn’t running back to work. At first, he’d thought she’d be off to another company, working another management position doing something equally as crazy as a dino-park. However, nothing indicated that she was in any kind of hurry to get back to the grindstone. After they officially closed the park, she’d been content to rest. He knew plenty of people who’d jumped at the chance of another assignment before they were ready. It benefited him because she wasn’t going anywhere yet, and maybe that meant she would factor him into her decisions. 9. She’d brought him to Madison. There was nothing to suggest that Owen had any right to know her like her family did. There was no reason that she shouldn’t be the full focus of her family’s love and attention. But here he was, sharing it with her and learning about her history. He was honored that anyone thought he should be brought into the family circle, and that she trusted him with it. 10. Whatever was going on between them was revving _up_. She was always watching him, finding excuses to touch him, to be near him. And the feeling was mutual. It was this odd extended foreplay that neither one of them was acknowledging, and he _loved it_. Nothing complicated, nothing too heavy, just the two of them taking it day by day. His gut had twisted a little shamefully when she’d ripped into him for treating her like one of the girls, but he couldn’t _help it_. Claire was vicious and fiery and unpredictable in a way that reminded him of Blue before she got too big for him to be in the paddock with her. Like it or not, Claire was keyed into his movements, watching for him, always wanting eyes on him. It was difficult to not feel like he was being hunted.  The way she watched him made him feel exposed. And the benefits of that were self-explanatory.

By the time Owen circled back around to the house, it was just after 5:30. He would have run longer if he knew where the hell he was going. He did sets of push-ups, sit-ups, and pull-ups in the back yard. There was an old swing set he used for the pull-ups. Better than the tree branches he used on Isla Nublar. When he let himself back into the house at 6, Karen was the only one awake. She stood at the kitchen sink, staring down at the dishes. To alert her to his presence, Owen shut the door a little harder than necessary, getting her attention.

“Oh! Owen, didn’t know you were up.”

“Early riser, bad habit if you ask Claire.”

Karen smiled, “She was always more of a night owl. Coffee?”

“Please.” He slid onto the stool and took a good look around the kitchen. Just a normal family kitchen. Four chairs at the table, three occupants. Clutter and laundry kept the place interesting and less museum-like; otherwise it would have been spotless. He didn’t have to wonder what it was like building up a family just for it to fall apart. He felt a weird kinship with the older Dearing sister. At least she had the kids.

“I assume Claire told you I trained the velociraptors at the park?” he asked as she passed over the mug.

“Yeah, hell of a job. Not exactly something you hear about every day. Must have been difficult.” She was humoring him, he could tell. But he didn’t know how else to say it.

“More like raising dogs you know will try to eat you at some point? It’s hard to explain. But uh…three of them died in the crossfire when the I-rex got out.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” He tilted his head a bit before taking a sip of coffee, his girls would have eaten her boys alive given the chance. Hell, they tried to. Not the best thing to bring up.

“We built a relationship, me and those animals. It was like negotiating, I promised to look after them and never abuse them, never ask them to be more than what they were. In return, they kind of promised to make an effort not to eat me.” His playful tone made her laugh. “Doesn’t always work out that way. Circumstances changed, and they had to look after themselves. Can’t blame ‘em for that.”

“Don’t you think they could have tried harder? That they could have tried not to turn on you?”

“They did in the end, saved our asses out there. That doesn’t mean it can go back to the way it was.” He dragged a hand across his neck. “When we went back to clean up the mess, I was absolutely certain that if I couldn’t get Blue back into the paddock that I’d have to kill her. And I was absolutely certain she wasn’t going back into a cage.”

“So what happened?”

“Claire.” He told her about their stand-off, the way Blue held off attacking, what he heard Claire saying. “I can’t have my girl back, but at least there was someone there to stop me from ruining any chance I had of moving on.”  

Karen looked down at the floor, “You know, you are not her type at all. And when I say that, I mean that you are the polar opposite of every man she’s ever dated.” Owen snorted, and lifted his mug in a cheers gesture. He’d picked up on that little factoid pretty quickly. She was defensive, always expecting him to criticize her, waiting for the shoe to drop, and always, always surprised by anything he did that was remotely unselfish. So either she had a truly low opinion of him or her bar was so low that he could clear it without trying. Because he honestly hadn’t been trying even a little bit. “I only had to meet you to know that though, cause I’ve hated all of them. _Especially_ the last guy.”

“We haven’t really talked about the kind of thing,” _Bodega Girl_ , “Well. Not much anyway.”

“Hm, doesn’t surprise me. She won’t tell you about Jack probably ever.” He cocked a brow. “So. Bad,” she insisted. “I hated his guts the second I laid eyes on him. He was rich and good looking, always telling her what to do, ordering for her, criticizing every little thing she did wrong.” Claire, standing still in the living room, had woken up about halfway into their conversation and was officially eavesdropping. She didn’t want to say anything to interrupt Karen talking about Jack because she was hearing a side of the story she’d never heard before: her own. Karen recounted phone calls and emails, incidents and her own fears for Claire. She told Owen how Jack was cheating almost all through their relationship and blamed it on Claire’s coldness, said that she wasn’t good enough for him anyway. She talked about how worried they’d all been thinking Jack was hurting her, or that he would hurt her, and that they couldn’t do anything about it because at some point he cut her off from them. Claire heard Owen ask what finally broke them up, and Karen admitted that she didn’t know. “She never talked about it. We could guess, but it could have been anything.”

Claire decided that she’d had enough and walked into the kitchen, “He stole from me,” she told them pertly, “Took my rent money and gambled it. His father cut him off apparently.” She plopped herself on the stool right next to Owen, making eye contact to let him know she was fine.

“Oh Claire, I didn’t…” Karen started to apologize, but Claire waved her off with a tight smile.

“It’s okay. You’re right. I don’t talk about him. But that’s because it’s embarrassing. He had control over me for so long that I thought it was normal. I could, however, understand the bottom line: he was costing me money.” There was a pregnant pause. Karen was trying but failing not to giggle at that, which broke down Owen’s resolve, and he’d already been hiding his face in his hands. It was such a quintessentially _Claire_ thing to say. Claire looked between them a little self-righteously, “Uh huh, laugh it up you two, go ahead.” And she couldn’t deny that it _was_ funny now, in retrospect. Of all the things Jack had said and done, stealing money was the least of his sins, but Claire was all about dollars and cents. Numbers meant something to her. The day she found out, everything clicked in her head. Jack was draining her, holding her back, and preventing growth. So he had to go. Owen was tapping a fist to the counter as he held in his laughter so he wouldn’t wake up the boys. Karen was bent over. “I’m so glad that’s funny to you,” Claire told them primly, swiping Owen’s coffee for herself. “Keep it up, go on. See what happens.” This just renewed their giggle fit. Claire swore Owen was crying and just rolled her eyes. After a few minutes, they composed themselves and there was a short skirmish for the coffee mug. Karen got Claire a fresh one.

“Well,” Owen said, “at least we know who to blame for your soul-eating corporate ass.” That earned him a pinch.

“I was an idiot, and I never intend to let anyone have that much control over me ever again.” Subconsciously, she thought that would be a disheartening statement for him to hear. Or that he’d make some smartass joke about her being a challenge.  That’s what men liked to say, she was “challenging.” As if she was supposed to provide them with stimulation and entertainment. Amusement. But Owen’s face was deadly serious, his jaw was set, and eyes were bright when she finally looked at him. As usual, he was already looking at her. She raised her brows just a little in question, to see what he’d say.

“Good,” he answered shortly. Claire looked over to see Karen smirking again, her eyes a little too shiny not to be teary.

Then she looked back at Owen, “Good.”

_I don’t control the raptors. It’s a relationship based on mutual respect._

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longish? Dunno, I wrote this thing too long ago. Someone yell at me, seriously, reviews are love.

Thankfully, the rest of their time in Madison was as uneventful as the first day. They took the boys back downtown to go run around by the water’s edge. They brought a football and the kids took turns catching it. One of them made a joke about throwing like a girl, which got Claire riled up.

“Here we go,” Karen muttered, flipping a few pages of her magazine as Claire jumped up from her seat. Aunt Claire proceeded to scold the boys for acting like girls couldn’t throw better than them, swiped the ball from Owen, who was utterly bemused by the whole thing, and told Zach to go long. She then threw a perfectly spiraled pass for roughly 40 yards while wearing heels. Owen turned to her nephews.

“Now guys, what have we learned?”

In unison they answered, “Don’t piss off Aunt Claire.”

Owen got pinched for that.

The boys and Karen went off to bed early that last night because Zach had summer school in the morning, Karen had work, and Gray had day camp. So Claire and Owen, not inclined to run toward a fresh round of nightmares, stayed up and watched a movie, more entwined than cuddled up on the couch. But Claire was sleepy and pliant, and Owen could care less about the movie, so things got a little out of hand. They were horizontal, turned toward each other, Owen’s arms were hooked under her arms with a hand in her hair and one on her back. Claire’s were mostly trapped between them, hands on his ears, rubbing in circular motions. He had her top leg trapped between his. They kept bickering though because Claire kept nipping at his neck and his fingertips kept dancing along her sides. After they settled down from a giggle fit, Claire hummed.

“So I was thinking about Blue today.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, being out by the water. I was just thinking about why she didn’t attack me that day. It was like…it’s so stupid.” He squeezed her a little.

“Tell me anyway.”

Claire bit her lip and wriggled a bit, he grunted and pressed closer, letting his eyes drift closed. “I thought for a second that she heard your voice and…waited for you.”

“My voice? I don’t think…”

“But she did. I mean, before I got that radio out, before your voice came over the comm, she was going to kill me. I swear. But she didn’t. And she left after she saw you. I just think…” Owen cut her off with a searing kiss, not waiting for her to catch up before he was tucking her under his body and deepening it.  He slanted his mouth over hers, levering it open so he could drive his tongue into her warmth. His lips lingered and tugged at hers, demanding her participation. The sting of his teeth on her skin, the energy waving off of him, was making her dizzy and she was flat on her back. Slowly, he sat up on his knees, bringing her with him. He murmured for her to hold onto him, and she promptly wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs just above his hips. All that yoga was paying off, strength wise. In a move she missed because her mouth moved to his ear, Owen got up off the couch and started walking them to the bedroom. She couldn’t decide if she was turned on or more concerned that he might drop her.

He took his turn nipping at her neck, “I _won’t_ drop you.” His voice was rough and teasing. _Ass_. She giggled and titled her hips forward, and squirmed a little when his hands squeezed her ass. They had to keep stopping, him holding her up against the wall; her lips felt bruised and eager for more pressure. Everything felt hot, it was too much and heady. She was still adjusting, trying to catch up with whatever feeling he was riding out. Claire was absolutely certain he was taking her to bed, but he took a quick right and brought them into the bathroom. Owen set her gently down on the sink and went to turn the shower on.

“Owen, what are you..?” He came back to hush and kiss her again, cupping the back of her head and winding his fingers into her short hair. It was an open, hot, and messy coming together, nothing elegant, as the small room warmed with steam. Claire could feel him pushing against her, simulating an upward motion that she wanted more of. Being as demanding as possible, she pulled his shirt over his head and ducked in for another kiss before she divested herself of her blouse and bra without much effort. The exchanged a series of quick, hard kisses before getting rid of their pants and stepping into the spray of the shower. She was overwhelmed by his hands everywhere, by his slow exploration, despite her own urgency. Once in the shower, he held her carefully, reverently, dropping kisses to her skin on her shoulders, her breasts, and then sunk down to his knees reaching her stomach and thighs. And then between them.

For Claire, sex had always been easy, she picked the time and the place. Men were easy and interchangeable because they made themselves easy and interchangeable. Funny thing about misogynistic practice is that no one benefits from it, except for maybe women like Claire. She specifically chose the men who wouldn’t stick around. It was in and out, thanks and bye. No muss, no fuss. However, her mental data log of All Things Owen was slowly and surely indicating that perhaps she could make an exception. Owen’s intermittent long and short licks, the hard sucks and tugs on her clit coupled with the pair of fingers he slipped through her folds was making her crazy. She was wet and needy, and her skin felt taut. She was straining against him, head thrown back against the shower wall with a hand in his hair. His scruff scraped against the thin skin of her inner thighs and she thought she would melt into mush because it was all too much, too fast. Her orgasm built up in the pit of her belly, and she kept babbling to him that she was close, until he took her clit in between his lips and her nerves lit up down her arms and legs against her say so.  After milking out her aftershocks, Owen pressed a soft kiss there before he stood and grabbed the soap behind her. He spent the next couple of minutes cleaning her, rubbing the soap to every inch of her skin. Owen only shook his head when she tried to return the favor and moved her under the spray to wet her hair, and then shampooed it for her. He took his time, soaping it up and then rinsing it out. Claire was making his job pretty difficult because she kept clinging to him, pressing kisses to his chest and shoulders and really whatever else she could reach. She loved the feeling of his solidity against her, holding her up.

When he was done, she wound her arms around his neck and looked up at him. “You gonna tell me what that was about?” she asked giddily. “Not that I didn’t enjoy the crap out of it…” He offered up the softest kiss yet.

“I’m in love with you.” Startled, she blinked and noticed that tears were forming in his eyes. “It’s insane and I know it, but I am. You just…goddamn it, Claire,” he buried his face in the crook of her neck and she just held him there, letting him lift her as he needed to. She shushed him, reaching to turn off the water, and lead him out of the shower. She got the towel and wrapped it around him, sitting him down on the closed toilet so she could dry herself and his hair off. Claire planted a kiss to his temple, grabbed his hand, and led him back to the bedroom. She made sure to lock the door behind them and set him on the edge of the bed. The poor thing just seemed broken. She didn’t have a plan here, she didn’t know what to do with everything he just gave her. Instead, they just got into bed, Claire straddling him pressing kisses to his face, neck, and chest. She curled into him and repeated what he so often said to her, “Tell me.” And he did. Every good, bad, and ugly thought that passed through his head. How much he missed the island, missed the raptors, how Claire had given him pieces of his heart back, mending what needed fixing. Blue seemed to be the lynchpin. Claire had saved them both. She _understood,_ and it wasn’t an easy relationship to understand. “Not even a little,” she agreed. Claire spent a lot of time wiping away tears while he talked. That condescending macho side of him was superficial at best, and this was turning out to be the best proof of that. The real question was how to respond. Back when they were dating, Jack liked to remind her that she was cold and aloof, not in touch with her emotions at all. But she’d spent most of her time around men with frail masculinities; emotions were weakness. All she could think in the moment though was this line about love from a dime store novel she’d picked up years ago; love was allowing yourself to be vulnerable. Being with someone meant showing your weaknesses so they could be your strengths, together. And there was nothing like post-traumatic stress from being chased down by dinosaurs to get you to show someone your weaknesses. Surprisingly, that wasn’t the hard part. The numbers attached to this thing were statistics about success and failure, marriages were just as likely to fail as not and more often than not it was because of infidelity or addiction. She couldn’t attach numbers to emotions, to actions. There was no comprehensive checklist for what this should look like, no spreadsheet to track progress, and no guarantee that they _would_ progress. It was just two people and a handful of words. And words hadn’t done her any good in the past. Words like “contained” and “secure” and “control,” words like “assets” and “profit.” They meant nothing now.

“Stop freaking out,” he grumbled. When she insisted that she wasn’t, she was fine, he scoffed. “Yes, you are, I can hear your brain spinning out here. Chill for a sec.” His arms were braced around her lower back, and a hand trailed up and down her outer thigh.

She pinched him, “Don’t tell me to _chill_. I will _chill_ if I want to.”

He poked her side, “Which means you won’t. It’s your turn anyway, so spill chica.”

“I’m just trying to process.”

“Bullshit.”

She sat up on him, “Not bullshit, I thought we agreed we weren’t talking about _this_.” Claire gestured rapidly between her and him, trying not to notice the way he stretched as he folded he hands behind his head. She put her weight back on his legs. This looked and sounded easier in books and movies. Did there really exist in the world people who could actually talk about this stuff normally? Without panic and dread building up in their stomachs? Running a dinosaur amusement park was so much easier than this. And more realistic, if you had to ask her. Which you really shouldn’t because she was obviously emotionally stunted or something.

“Claire?” She snapped her focus back to him, eyes physically feeling like they widened. “You looked like you were having a flashback.”

She slumped, “That’s embarrassing.”

“More like a sad testament to the men you’ve been with.” She groaned and flopped theatrically onto the bed next to him. It seemed that they were going to completely ignore the naked aspect of this conversation because he just pulled her alongside him and lazily stroked her hip. “So can I take a wild stab on what’s going through that big brain of yours?” She hummed her approval. “You’re thinking about statistics on failed relationships.” _Marriages_ , she corrected silently. But she’d be damned before she said that tid bit out loud. “And the ones that fail because people get co-dependent after trauma. About all the studies done about what a bad idea it is to hook up with someone who’s got the same bad experiences as you. Then you’re comparing those numbers to your truly horribly track record with men, am I right?”

“Maybe a little,” she mumbled. _Except I want to marry you_.

“Does that shit really bother you? I mean, does it even matter? Cause I’m on board for saying fuck it and doing whatever the hell we want.” She narrowed her eyes. That didn’t really sound right, but his earnestness was a big obstacle in her path to being reasonable.

“I just need you to be patient with me.”

“Well duh,” he responded immediately making her huff a laugh through her nose. “I can’t promise you that one of us won’t freak out and start shooting. We’re not too many steps from losing it after everything that’s happened. Personally, I’ve always believed you had the makings of being an awesome lady serial killer they write creepy songs about. Have you looked at you? Totally within the realm of possibility.” Seriously, if she didn’t stop rolling her eyes, she was going to have to get some kind of surgery or physical therapy for them.

“That’s not funny.”

He smirked, “It’s a little funny.”

She covered her face with an arm over her eyes, feeling a headache coming on. “This is insane,” she mumbled.

“More or less insane than almost being eaten by a genetically altered dinosaur hybrid at a dinosaur amusement park?”  The scowl he got back made him laugh. At least he had a sense of humor about the whole thing. Maybe that was her problem, taking it all too seriously. Hadn’t she always taken everything too seriously? The definition of insanity was doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different outcome. By that logic, if she tried something different this time in this absolutely _different_ situation, wouldn’t the outcome change? Realistically, what was she struggling with besides the math? _Nothing_ , she thought loudly, _absolutely nothing_.

“Fine, this is stupid.”

“Is it stupid or are you being stubborn?”

She tapped her nose, keeping her eyes shut so she didn’t laugh at the look on his face. She was being serious, damn it! “That’s it exactly, you got me.” She heaved a sigh. “But think about it, we haven’t even been on a second date. We were terrible at the first one and then we got chased around by man eating dinosaurs. Not exactly a conventional way to start a relationship.”

“Bah. Conventional is overrated. Besides, we worked with the man-eating dinosaurs so conventional flew out the window a while ago.” He flipped over onto his back, “Besides, I’d say this is like our third date.”

“What was the second?” He wiggled his eyebrows and rolled on top of her. “You’re joking. Tracking the Indominus Rex so it didn’t eat my nephews is not a _date_.” Owen lowered himself down so they were flush against each other, rolling his hips just so, and then latching onto her neck.

“I was thinking more when you shot that dimorphodon in the face,” he murmured in her ear, lips moving against the outer shell before tracing down to her pulse point, cheek and then her lips.  

She laughed against his lips, “I should’ve let it eat you.”

“Ha. Rude.”

Claire stuck her tongue out at him. “Besides, visiting with my family isn’t a date either. So your point is invalid.”

“I don’t think so. I mean, you brought me home, there were meals and walking, and I saw embarrassing pictures from your childhood. That’s a date.”

“I’m burning those pictures.”

“Ha, no. I’m keeping them for posterity.”  He must have noticed she was shivering a little because he yanked out the comforter from underneath them and pulled it over them, grabbing her up to him as he went. Owen nuzzled into the pillow, but Claire watched him, brushing her fingertips through his hair.

“Posterity, huh? You want kids?”

He opened one eye slowly and then shut it again, not revealing any facial expression. “With you? Yeah. You could be all overprotective and try to get them into snotty private schools and I could clicker train them like the girls…”

“You are _not_ clicker training our children,” she snapped.

The slow smirk that spread across his face was so smug that she had the urge to pinch him again, “You said _our_ children.” His blue eyes flashed open, glinting with amusement. She was scowling again. “Oh, just give it up, you know you want to.”    

Claire sat up, holding the blanket to her, “Okay, fine. Yes.”

Confused, Owen also sat up. “Yes what? What did you just agree to?”

“Yes, I love you,” he looked like he just got slapped.

“Don’t say it if you don’t mean it, I was just teasing.”

Once again, Claire straddled his lap, this time under the blankets, her hands on his neck to keep his head tilted up toward her. “I _do_ mean it. But if we’re doing this, I’m all in. There’s no backing out and walking away. And you can’t let me walk out either, trust me I’ll try. You’ll do something stupid and I’ll get frustrated and you have to make me stay. Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal. Have I mentioned how much I love it when you boss me around?” With a small smirk, Claire moved in to kiss him only to divert at the last second and put her lips to his ear.

“Good, get used to it.” She pushed her hips forward making him let out a laughing groan. “Owen?” He hummed. “I’m going to need you to fuck me now.” He pulled back to look up at her, eyes narrowed, pupils blown out.

Then he told her firmly, “Yes, ma’am.”

The next morning as the sun was coming up, there were long hugs and teary goodbyes. Gray was protesting that they didn’t _have_ to go yet and that he didn’t want to go to day camp anyway because the other kids were lame. Zach was old enough to be beyond that kind of thing though, and patiently told his kid brother that they would be back soon. And Owen made sure to add that they could visit them whenever they wanted. It pacified him only a little, just enough for him to detach from Claire’s waist. Karen was more visibly but less vocally upset.

“It’s just hard going back to an empty house, you know? I have the boys, but it’s…”

“Hard,” Claire finished sympathetically. “Call me whenever you need to. Seriously, middle of the day, middle of the night. I’ll pick up.”

Her older sister wiped a tear from her cheek and folded her arms, “Promise?” Claire reassured her and they hugged to make it official. Before Claire could pull away, Karen asked her to tell Owen that she was calling a mediator for the divorce, she and Scott weren’t going to court. When she asked why Owen would want to know, Karen only shrugged. “Just tell him for me, yeah?” She promised before turning to the car to find Owen in the driver’s seat.

“You’re joking.”

“Hop in, Red. We got places to be.” There was some back and forth, but in the end Claire relented only if they could play Sufjan Stevens. Whatever he had planned must have been worth because he grumbled about the music. Since they had the spare moment, and she was curious, Claire told him what Karen mentioned before they left.

“Oh,” he answered nonchalantly. “Good for her.”

“Good for her? What exactly did you say to her?” Claire wasn’t exactly pleased with her sister’s decision after thinking about it. She’d been all geared up to call in a few favors and get Karen a legal team from hell that would rip Scott’s to shreds so she could keep the house, kids, and money. That’s what sisters _did_. And Claire happened to be friends with some of the best divorce attorneys in New York City. Karen hadn’t been enthused, per se, but she hadn’t been against the idea either. At least, that’s what Claire thought before they came to stay. Logic dictated that it was Owen who changed her mind.

“Uh? About Scott and the divorce? Nothing.” He said truthfully, “Well…not really. I guess it was a little backhanded.” Claire’s brows shot up and her lips pulled in, caught somewhere between annoyed and intrigued. Karen’s divorce was none of his business, and they’d hardly discussed it anyway, since when did he have opinions? He blew out a sigh. “The other morning before you came in, I was talking about training the raptors.” He paused.

“And?”

“ _And_ I told her I was glad you were there when we found Blue because if I killed her, I don’t think I would have been able to move on.” It took her a moment, but Claire connected the dots. And unfortunately, since it was such a sincere and atypically sweet thing for him to do, she couldn’t yell at him. It was unfortunate because she was quickly learning that half the crap he pulled would piss her off and all the anger would dissipate the second he was adorable. She was _screwed_. Instead of giving any sort of verbal response, she put her hand on his thigh and leaned over to kiss his shoulder.

It was another twenty minutes until they reached, “Henry Vilas Zoo?” she said when they passed the sign (a little too quickly in her opinion).

“Yup,” he answered, popping the “p” for emphasis. “Barry made a call for me.” Claire didn’t really know what that meant, other than the fact that she knew he’d been interviewing at various zoos, making calls, and video chatting with facility managers all over the country. Madison, Wisconsin, before that day, had never been on the list. Not wanting to crush her own expectations, she stayed quiet as they made their way in and were led to one of the exhibits. There was an underground path which lay under several of the larger aquarium tanks and opened up to the outdoor swamps. Wisconsin could get _hot_ for weeks at a time in the summer, so they often let the larger reptiles out into the open, pulling them back into the indoor habitat when the temperature dropped in the fall. One of the zoo staff took them over to this outdoor habitat, leading them through the winding walking paths, where four American Alligators were laying out half on the dry grass, half in the shallow water. Claire stared wide eyed at the gators, took a second to breathe and reminded herself that they were in Madison, Wisconsin, the date was June 25 th, and Jurassic World was closed. Owen squeezed her hand and kissed her temple just as a man in a zoo keeping uniform called them over. His name was Paul, worked mostly with the monkeys.

“So they tell me you worked with raptors?” he asked. Owen explained the kind of work he’d done, the raising, imprinting, and training. He talked about the results, their release from the paddock, and how it all played out. Paul had some concerns about Owen’s ability to focus on the animals considering the fallout and tragedy of his last job.

“Nah,” he admitted, “I miss it.” Claire whispered to him that she hadn’t known that, a little bewildered.  Sure he had mentioned that he missed the raptors and living on the island, but that was a long way off from working with dangerous animals day in and out. He just shrugged in response. At least in that respect they were very much alike: workaholics. Still, she was confused about what they were doing there, the guided conversation.  The second she realized it was a job interview and not some kind of private showing Intervention, Claire felt the strongest urge to whack Owen upside the head. What kind of idiot brought someone to a job interview? The zookeeper didn’t seem to mind much, though, he was fascinated with the work Claire had done for Jurassic World, and was really hoping to talk about it with her.

“I’m sorry?” She told him she thought this was an interview for Owen. Whipping around, Owen was scratching the back of his neck and not making eye contact. Claire knew interview language, she knew what people meant when they were hopeful and wanted to talk. She turned back to the zookeeper.

“Well, we are looking for a gator caretaker, but we do need a new director for marketing and communications. And while you’re absolutely overqualified for an operation this size, we’d do our best to come up with a competitive offer.” Claire’s mouth opened and shut a couple of times before she looked back for Owen who was far more interested in the grass at present, then back again. Understanding danced across the man’s face and finished with a tight smile, “I’ll just give you two a minute.” He wandered off the fenced area where visitors were standing and taking pictures. It was jarring how eerily similar it felt to watching visitors at Jurassic World.

She rounded on Owen, hands on her hips, “So what was the plan here? Throw me into an interview blind and hope I say yes?”

 Completely nonplussed, he shrugged, “Sorta.”

“Did you consider that maybe I wasn’t interested in working for any kind of park anymore, animal or otherwise?”

“Yes,” he mimicked her posture, “yes, I did.”

“But?”

He tossed his arms out in a general kind of _this is obvious_ gesture, “But, this is what you’re good at. Even though I still think you were absolutely insane for doing half the crap you did, I have to admit that you were amazing at your job. And this is your hometown. Karen’s here, the boys are here. Wisconsin is _nothing_ like Isla Nublar. You’d actually be doing _good_ work, helping the animals. And I won’t lie. Gray may or may not have threatened my life if I kept you away too long. Winning all around.” His upward pointing finger made a circling gesture that she kind of had to laugh at. It was hilarious how close Owen and Gray were in such a short time span. And surprisingly, none of Owen’s arguments mentioned himself at all, except the last which was ludicrous and probably meant to ease some of the tension. She knew his parents lived in Chicago, that they weren’t very close, and that he didn’t have much in the way of extended family. But they hadn’t discussed this, and she didn’t know what he wanted. Apparently, Owen wanted to know what _she_ wanted.

Wisconsin. Never for a second since she left at 18 did she think she’d move back. Visits, absolutely, but live here? The idea gave her a bit of a headache. Madison wasn’t nearly as bad as the rest of the backwater towns surrounding it. Then again, Isla Nublar hadn’t exactly been the shining pinnacle of culture and sophistication either. She bit her lip. Being close Karen, having access to the boys, being away from the high stakes, high pressure life that had toppled an entire corporation…maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. She looked around at the zoo, plenty of kids, large habitats, and cheerful caretakers. Maybe they could do a virtual dinosaur exhibit. It could be like a Jurassic World Memorial, careful reconstructions of the actual park with the animals that had lived there. Ticket sales alone would be enough to upgrade the place. They’d need sponsors. AT&T would definitely go for it since they missed their opportunity with the I-rex. _Thank god_ that hadn’t gotten out yet. She pursed her lips. The last time she’d brought up the idea of a memorial, Owen had freaked. Perhaps he’d change his mind if it were stateside and not the real thing. Twisting up her lips she turned back to Owen who, like always, was already watching her, hands on his hips, probably waiting to be berated. She was seriously considering it, the high handed bastard, but she deflated because she couldn’t even come up with one good reason to say no to just looking at the offer.

She gestured to the habitat, “Alligators are a few rungs down from raptors.” He straightened a little at that, either offended or surprised that she wasn’t yelling. She would accept either at that point.

“I can manage. Is that a yes?”

Turning on her heel (high heels, thank you very much) she started to walk toward the zookeeper at her quick corporate pace. “I’ll need a day or two to review the contracts and negotiate a little. I’ll need some reassurances from them that there is a least _some_ funding to start out with and that I’ll have the necessary staff. But,” she did a quick turn and came nose to nose with him, “yes, I’ll consider it.”

He arched a brow, “Just consider?”

“The job, yes. But I think we’ve already decided on the Madison area, don’t you?”

Owen smiled and kissed her forehead, “Hell yes, I do,” he whispered and then grabbed her hand for the rest of the distance between them and Paul.

 


	8. Chapter 8

As expected, Claire tore those contracts to shreds and drew up her own. It wasn’t the salaries exactly, she wasn’t asking for more money, just more benefits for clinical and psychiatric care, extended maternity and paternity leave, and a few workplace conditions she liked to maintain no matter what office she was in. All of this was in exchange for a slight pay cut. That was something she’d conferred with Owen about first, but it turned out to be unnecessary. “Claire, I lived in a bungalow. That was half trailer. I think we can manage.” But the job turned out to be near perfect for her. Sure, it wasn’t the fast-paced, multi-billion dollar operation she was used to, but there was enough capital to make a real go of it and some decent organizations already willing to donate and participate in marketing campaigns. She could hire her own assistants if necessary. Owen was eager to get back into the fray. One of the two female alligators was going to lay eggs that were going to be distributed among 50 zoos across the United States, primarily in the southern states, to be bred for captivity. Several zoos in the south were planning on reintroducing several back into the wild, or rehabilitating the offspring of the new eggs for wildlife. There was a large chance that most wouldn’t hatch, but they were hopeful that if they were nurtured in smaller groups, more would survive. Owen was getting four of them. It was a chance for him to get a squad back. He’d be teaching the other trainers and zookeepers his techniques, especially those who worked for the other zoos receiving the eggs. Clicker training would work just as well for the gators as the raptors, “And bonus, they’re _slightly_ less likely to rip me to shreds.”

“People are attacked by alligators all of the time,” Claire argued.

“Well yeah, but I ran with raptors. Little bit different.” He tried to explain the difference in their anatomical structures; alligators were built for speed and raptors for distance. He also informed her that messing with the velociraptors genome had altered its capabilities drastically. “They _were_ like giant turkeys, I stand by that, but you all didn’t cook ‘em up that way.” She listened to this for a good ten minutes before taking her shirt off. That shut him up. At any rate, Owen would be able to build a comparable relationship with the gators. He already had them named: Fox, Golf, India, and Juliette. He skipped Hotel because, as he said, that was a “fucking stupid name” for an animal. “And _Golf_ isn’t?” Claire thought it would be cuter to name them after movie stars from the 1940’s.

“Ingrid! Like Bergman. Or Mae, Jean, Betty? Barbara? Doris? Humphrey, Henry, Porter? Errol? Bing? _Come on_! It’s a gold mine for ridiculously large animals that could tear you to shreds.”

“I will never _ever_ name an animal _Bing_. What are you on?”  He got pinched for that.

When they accepted the jobs, the first person to get a call was Barry, who was ecstatic for the both of them. Karen was next, and if her screech through the phone was an indicator, she was too. And of course she insisted on a celebratory dinner. After they told the boys, Gray had go run around outside to burn off some of his excitement, but Zach just shrugged and told them he figured they were going to move there anyway. His aunt didn’t miss the small, close mouthed smile on his face though. The next order of business was a place to live. Karen gave them names of several subdivisions and told them she knew plenty of realtors in the area. Owen choked on his dinner from laughing, the combination of them in the suburbs and Claire letting anyone help make decisions was just a little too much. He got pinched. Later, when they returned to the hotel, they hashed out some of the basics. Claire thought an apartment would be more convenient since houses required time and upkeep, but Owen hated the idea.

“I want a _yard_ , Claire, and a room that isn’t connected to somebody else’s. I don’t want to be caged in with a bunch of potential lunatics that get mad when your TV’s too loud.” He continued that he didn’t care if the place was the size of a trailer or if it was falling apart; he could fix it up. “And when I fuck you up against the wall, I don’t want some perv listening from the other side.” She relented on that point and organized her house hunt. The hotel room they were staying in was covered in paper and whiteboard, highlighters, and books on real estate and house construction. Owen came back from an orientation meeting one night to find her nose deep in a chapter about foundations. “The Do’s and Don’ts of Buying a Home…Hm. Expert yet?”

“Give me another day,” she responded tartly not looking up from the book. The question of money came up fast and furious. InGen had been very generous with Owen, but they had been living on an island off the coast of Costa Rica, there wasn’t much to do, so everything had gone straight to savings. “I bought that trailer for $50 and built the rest of it so…”

“I don’t even want to talk about how illegal your _dwelling_ was.”

“Ey, your people’s _apartments_ were crap! I hate apartments!” There was some more bickering because he didn’t even know how much money he had. Or if he had credit. Claire told him he was lucky that he’d had the raptors to protect him for so long because he was basically an infant with a clicker. That comment was not appreciated, so he flipped the script and started asking about _her_ money situation. He winced when she did that condescending head tilt, “I have a credit score of 800, a diverse portfolio, and a substantial savings account.”

“Diverse. Portfolio.”

“Yes, Owen, of investments, including a 401k, some stocks with startups, and several shares in international conglomerates.”

“Conglomerates.”

“Are you just going to repeat everything I say?”

“Only if you keep saying stupid words like _conglomerates_. So how much money do you actually have?”

“I’d say near half a million, I’ll have to liquidate some of it…”

“ _What_?” The conversation devolved from there into bickering about how she’d made that money and what did she even _do_ with it?

“Invest, Owen, I invest it!” He had maybe a third of that amount because it was sitting in a savings account untouched since he got out of the Navy. At some point Claire threw her hands up, “I don’t even know what we’re arguing about! We have enough money to buy a house, furnish it, and get decent insurance, those are all _good_ things.”

She planned out exactly 2 months of house hunting, viewing houses one week at a time, two houses a day. There was a break week and then another week of viewings. So she narrowed it down to 28 in total. She had extensive notes on every house, hardly ever consulting Owen except for what features he wanted, which was just a yard, deck, and a two-car garage. He wasn’t that complicated of a guy. Claire had particulars about _everything_ , from the materials used in the house, to the type and quality of woodwork, the size of the kitchen, a window seat (“Somewhere, anywhere, why don’t people build window seats anymore?”), the types of flooring, and every bit of information she could get about the previous owner. She was ruthless with agents, wanting full reports and inspections of every house they looked at. She actually managed to set up a deal with the inspector to do all 28 inspections at a 30% discount. Her system for narrowing them down was this: she picked her favorite 7 from the first week and her favorite 7 from the third week. On the fourth week, she narrowed it down to two. They went to see the two houses again on the same day, and then took a day to make a decision. Everyone warned them that it could take months to close. Claire’s laugh made Owen shudder. “We’ll close next week.”

They did. She started ordering furniture that day, getting a bed and kitchen table delivered within two days. Owen was really tempting to ask _HOW_ at every step, but he didn’t dare. He didn’t want to know. “She’s a witch,” he told one of his co-workers, “a sorceress in heels. I swear. _Witchcraft_.”  Their home was a two story Tudor made of stone that was built in the early 50’s. There were three bedrooms, two bathrooms, and all the particular features Claire was after, including a study with built-in bookshelves and a window seat. The previous owners were an older couple who were retiring to a senior community and were eager to sell. He was a Navy man and she was a vegetarian school teacher. These things were not coincidences, Claire paid very close attention to detail. They weren’t smokers, they’d never owned a pet, and the roof had been re-done only two years before. The garage was two-car with a studio apartment above it, which Owen declared a gym almost instantly. There was a deck out back with plenty of space and a fire pit. The gardens were minimal because Claire was _not_ a gardener, but there were several trees and bushes, and even a natural pond in the back. It was idyllic to the point of unbelievable or well…improbable. “Statistically, it’s unlikely for to find a place this awesome,” he said one time. Claire just hummed primly, “Not if you do the research.” Her sing songy voice earned a scowl; he’d been making fun of her wall of stats and her infographics from the beginning.

And since she had a pretty hefty nest egg, she hired an interior decorator. It actually went smoothly once the decorator got through all of her binders. Fortunately, the woman was accustomed to clients like Claire who wanted to make every tiny decision. The house morphed into a home in no time. If Owen was even remotely worried that she’d turn the house into some perfect magazine feature, that feeling was squashed when he saw the finished product. She’d picked neutral palettes, functional furniture. She’d had prints made of several of the tigers he’d worked with, the men he’d served with, and even a picture of him with the raptors as hatchlings. In the study his Navy blues were preserved in a case with his patches and medals in a display. There were a few scattered pictures of Karen and the boys, a printout of a map of Jurassic World, and a couple of paintings to serve as wall art. Other than that, everything was open and exposed, livable. Claire was pretty nervous when she asked if he liked it. He supposed his face was implacable at times, so he had a little pity on her. “I was sort of terrified the sheets would be too nice and you’d make me sleep on the floor.”


	9. Chapter 9

So they bought a house. Had steady jobs that didn’t put their lives at risk at all hours of the day. It was all so normal. And very much unlike anything Owen had experienced. The first night they were there, he crashed hard. It had been a long day of shopping, hauling furniture around, bickering with Claire about placement, and fielding phone calls from Karen, Barry, his boss, and three of Claire’s employees. “What part of _she’s taking the day off_ do you not understand? No, I’m not kidding, stop calling Joanne!” He tossed her phone onto the couch and found Claire staring at him with her lips pulled in to hide a smile. “What?”

“Nothing,” she squeaked, “nothing at all.” She walked past him with a box for the kitchen, smile firmly in place.

The second night, however, was another story. It was mostly organizing, which was Claire’s department, and a Monday, so there wasn’t too much going on at the zoo. He was kept busy all day, but by the time Claire drifted off to sleep, he was too wired to sit still and the novelty of the house too much to be comfortable just yet. So he got up and went for a run at one in the morning. Theirs was a quiet neighborhood, three miles round trip on the sidewalk, so just enough to take the edge off. At the end, he circled around to the backyard. _His backyard_. That all by itself was mind blowing for a guy like him. He flopped onto a patio chair and stared across the lawn, thinking in the back of his mind that he should stretch and go change before he got chilled. But he was still taking in everything; his whole life had flipped and changed. Woman, job, house. That’s a lot for an ex-army brat, Navy man, and dinosaur trainer who lived in a bungalow. Claire had things in storage. Claire had a closet full of clothes, photo albums, trinkets, and old things. Claire owned furniture that had been used in a place she previously owned. That was something he’d never thought about: baggage.

He was sitting there maybe for a minute or so before the kitchen light flipped on and Claire stepped out onto the deck. She had a robe on and a glass of water, so he figured she’d been waiting for him. Owen held his arms out for her to sit in his lap, and she tossed her legs over the arm of the chair then handed him the water.

“Good run?” He hummed his yes. “I hate it when you do that.”

“Sorry.”

“Not your fault,” she tossed back easily, running a hand through her hair. It had grown out a lot and he was really hoping she wouldn’t cut it. “I’ll get over it. You having nightmares again? Cause we said we’d talk about that. I really don’t want you running around at night because of I-rex stuff.”

“Nah, it’s the house.” She frowned and he had to put down the glass to explain, “Okay, not the _house_. It’s great, I love it. I’m just not used to it.”

“Because it’s new…?” There were times when he wished that she was less inquisitive, less preoccupied with details. Claire would dig until she got all the information she wanted; that had been a large part of her job. Research, research, research. Half the time he was being interrogated about his preferences and strong dislikes, his background and desires for the future. Sometimes it was subtle, sometimes it was more direct. Research was data and data was quantifiable, according to her. His response to that was that she was nosy. Got him pinched.

“Growing up, we lived on army bases. Back then it was a lot cheaper, and they could fit two small families to a townhouse. Sometimes we had our own house, but they were so close to the other houses, it was like we were living together anyway. There was never enough space, never any sort of quiet or privacy.”  He pressed a kiss to her shoulder. “It wasn’t bad, really. We just never had a “place,” you know? I lived out of a few boxes and bags, we didn’t keep anything non-essential because it meant more stuff to store or carry and we never knew how big the next place was gonna be. Then I did ROTC for the Navy, so it was dorms and barracks for the next 10 years.”

Claire had started massaging his head, and pressed a kiss to his forehead once she understood, “This is your first _home_.”

“The bungalow on the island was a place to sleep. I spent all my time at the raptor paddock or outside. But this? This is pretty permanent.”

“Scary, isn’t?”

“A good scary,” he corrected. “And not as scary as your buddy’s raptor hybrid.”

“Well, think about it this way. The house is just a house. It’s ours, but it’s replaceable. _We_ are permanent. I could live anywhere with you and it’d be home.” He leaned his head onto her shoulder, and she curled over the top of it, dragging her fingertips down the back of his head to the nape of his neck and back up. “You’re my home,” she whispered, “and my safe place. And we’ll adjust to this like we do everything else. Together. For survival.”

He snorted, “That was terrible.” He got pinched.

“Shut up and let me love you.” They fell into a giggle fit before they went back in and up to bed.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe I wrote this damn thing all at once. I HATE HATE HATE WIPS. Reviews are love.

Their first scare came a few months into their time in Madison. The alligator eggs were set to hatch in three weeks, so they decided it would be a good time to retrieve and transport them. Owen would have preferred to do it sooner, but they were having trouble deciding how and _who_ would go in and get them. Owen just clapped his hands together, “Time to play Piggy Back.” The plan was simple. Someone would release a chicken (they’d used pigs on Isla Nublar, but PETA had a problem with that in the States) on the opposite side of the habitat away from the eggs. The males and the non-mothering female would definitely go after the chicken. The mama wouldn’t get food for a couple of days before, so someone else would go in with some raw meat and draw her away from the nest. Five people would be sent in to retrieve the eggs as quickly as possible. The gators wouldn’t attack the staff members far enough away from the nest.

Claire didn’t like it, but it was their best option. Mama gators were very protective of their eggs, always nearby. There was no other safe way to extract the eggs. And there was definitely no way they could wait until they hatched. “It would be like cat herding. With more teeth.” So of course she insisted on being nearby when they did it. Owen made sure she had access to the feeding dock. He was in charge of holding off the mama, while the extraction team went in. The mama’s name was Zelda, and Owen adored her. The males weren’t interested in his presence and the other female, Estelle, was too accustomed to humans running around to notice that Owen was any different than the other hands which fed her. But Zelda was younger, only 12, and was the only one of the four to be raised in captivity. She was territorial and aggressive, but responsive and intelligent enough to pick out Owen in a group. Owen thought she had a lot of potential, which, confused Claire beyond belief, but she was happy he was adjusting so well.

Management insisted that Owen have a partner to distract Zelda, a partner with a shock stick for security purposes. He wasn’t too thrilled with the idea, but agreed. The first couple of phases of the plan went smoothly. The 3 gators were drawn away from the nest area, and Owen managed to lure Zelda to distraction. The team was able to get in and extract the eggs. Owen was face to face with Zelda, whose mouth was hanging open as she watched him. He’d been training her, or trying to, so she knew to stop or back up when his hand was out. He held a chunk of chicken on a feeding pole in one hand, and held the other up for her to stop; it was a stand-off. Owen’s job was to keep her attention and be as non-threatening as possible so that she wouldn’t retreat back to the nest. For this to go smoothly, the team had to work quickly. Zelda was hungry and she was defending her nest. Owen was between a rock and a hard place.

But it was the other gators they should have been worried about. The younger male, and father of the hatchlings, Hugo, charged one of the zookeepers once he saw the chicken. The guy would have been fine, except he fell into a pool of water. Just as the extraction team was making their exit, they heard the screams. The guy with Owen, an intern named Tony, startled a little, earning him Zelda’s attention. She opened her mouth wide and hissed. Owen called out to Tony to remain calm and just back away slowly, but he didn’t budge. That’s when Zelda lunged. Tony reacted quickly and stabbed out with the shock stick. Owen started yelling for Tony to _back the fuck up_ and to get back. But he was in shock, and now Zelda, feeling that her nest was threatened, charged. Owen immediately dropped the chicken and went to pull Tony out of the way. From the feeding dock, Claire heart dropped into her stomach as she watched in shock while Owen knocked into the man’s torso, and basically lifted and pushed him back. She lost all feeling in her limbs when she saw Owen hit the ground, his feet toward the gator’s head. Claire knew gators were supposed to be timid. She knew they were more likely to retreat than to attack. The feeding pole had been dropped ten feet away, but all of Zelda’s focus was on Owen.  Luckily, the former Navy man wasn’t exactly the Sit Tight and Wait type. He immediately got onto his belly, head to head with the gator. As she started to charge again, Owen leapt to his feet and ran straight back. He wasn’t quick enough, though, because she nabbed his leg. Claire screamed out. Just to her right, they had pulled the other zookeeper out with minor injuries, but nothing fatal. Their attention whipped around to Owen. Smooth, as if he’d been doing it his whole life, Owen flipped himself, letting his leg twist, and swung a fist into the gator’s eyes. She opened her mouth just so in order to adjust her grip, and Owen got loose, sprinting for the feeding dock and jumping the gate and landing right behind Claire. Zelda had backed down and was sliding back into the pool near her nest. Owen’s pants were ripped and there were a few puncture marks pooling with small amounts of blood, but he was fine.

And laughing. On his back on the floor of the feeding dock, he was having himself a giggle fit. Tony, who was leaning up against the gate, joined in, but Claire was fuming. In a move similar to the one after killing the dimorphodon, Claire held out her hand to help him up. With a smirk, Owen was about to lean in and kiss her, but she held up a finger. Promptly, she spun on her heel and clacked over to slap Tony right across the face. Owen, who’d been on the wrong end of one of those, winced sympathetically. “If you ever do something that _stupid_ again and you get him killed, you’ll be lucky if Zelda gets to you.”  The blood in the poor guy’s face had drained except where it was stained red in the shape of a handprint. “And you,” she rounded back on Owen who had the good sense to take a couple steps back, but not far enough away to avoid getting pinched.

“Ey!” he protested, “I saved the guy!”

She followed up with a poke to his chest, “And almost got your leg _ripped off_ in the process!” He held a hand over his chest protectively, rubbing where she’d jabbed. “If you ever pull something like that again, I’ll…”

“Feed me to Zelda?”  Claire yanked his face to hers and kissed him a little more deeply than was appropriate for work. But fuck them, he’d almost lost limbs too many times to count and she was _sick_ of watching that. She cut it off, wiped the lipstick from his face, and glided away like nothing happened. He watched her go and heaved a heavy sigh before he noticed just how terrified Tony still looked.

“How ya doing there, Tony?”

The guy’s eyes were bugged out when he looked at him, sweating dotting his forehead, “Dude. Your girlfriend is _scary_.”

Owen grunted, “You should see what she can do with a T-rex.” The look on Tony’s face was a combination of confused and horrified, which was priceless. Owen just laughed and laughed, and wiped his hands on his ruined pants. “Oh, lord, Tony. You’re gonna have to learn to loosen up.” He clapped the guy on the shoulder leading him out, “Let’s go find someone to patch me up, yeah?”

Claire didn’t talk to him for the rest of the day, but his leg was fine, Zelda was fine, and the eggs were being prepped for travel. Everything was kosher. Luckily he kept another pair of pants in his work locker (okay, _Claire_ made him do that), so he wasn’t walking around the zoo with bloodied and torn pants. He figured she wouldn’t appreciate the PR nightmare of a gator attack on a zookeeper being broadcasted to every man, woman, and child visiting the park. So, he had that going for him when he waltzed by her assistant’s desk without a word and into her office where she was clacking away at her computer while on a call.

“I understand that money is tight, Mr. Allen, but when times are tough, isn’t our responsibility to put our best foot forward? I think both your employees and the public would appreciate and congratulate generosity when frugality is recommended. Raises morale,” she glanced up briefly at him as he flopped into the chair across from her, her piercing green eyes not at all amused. Her tone, however, was up and professional, “That’s wonderful Mr. Allen, and so generous of you. I’ll have someone send over a welcome packet tomorrow morning. Uh huh, first thing, excellent. Yes, next week will be fine. Tell Nadine I said hello, goodbye Mr. Allen.” She slammed the office phone back onto the receiver, and sat back straight in the chair with her arms folded across her chest. Glaring, watching. He was trying not to smirk, honestly, because that glare did things for him. “Don’t you dare smile at me right now.”

He couldn’t help it, he broke, his face completely splitting open and a chuckle slipping out. She threw a pen at him and he caught it. “Okay, I’m sorry. Seriously, seriously sorry for scaring the shit out of you. But what was I _supposed_ to do? Let Zelda take chunk out of Tony and the zoo put her down because he’s an idiot?”

She bit the inside of her cheek, “Maybe.” He made a face. “I feel like we’ve done more than enough for the reptiles of the world.”

“I’m fine.” He stood up and circled around her desk, arms spread wide.

“I can see that.”

“Tony’s fine.” He bracketed his hands on the arms of her chair, leaning over her slightly.

“I couldn't care less,” she snipped without flinching back because of his sudden proximity.  

“Zelda’s good.”

Claire’s eyes narrowed. He knew she still struggled with animals, she was respectful of how much damage they could do, she understood that they could feel pain and loyalty. But when they were a threat to her and hers, she was resistant. That was something she would struggle with for a good long while, but he had faith that she would come around. Statistics, or whatever. She did that cute thing where she pulled her lips into a tight, wide line, typically that meant she was about to cave. A soft slender hand came up to cup his face, thumb stroking his cheekbone.

“If she takes a piece of you, I’ll gut her to get it back.” Her voice was so soft and sweet that he shuddered, because Tony wasn’t exactly far off in his assessment.

“Noted,” he agreed and kissed her. “Please don’t kill the gators.” He kissed her again.

She pressed back, “Then,” she kissed back, “don’t get too close to them.” Claire brought her other hand up to hold him to her. It was a short, sweet, exchange. A meshing of their lips more for connection and assurance. Honestly, adrenaline was still pumping through him. It was the dimorphodon all over again, and no Claire to shoot the shit out of it. However, he was perfectly aware of her rules around the workplace. So he stopped it and pressed his forehead to hers.

“One time thing,” he promised.

“Good.” She playfully slapped his cheek, “Now get out of my office.”

Her relationship with his alligators was tenuous at best after that. They hatched in the habitat three weeks later under the special care of the onsite veterinarians and the caretakers. Four girls, which was miraculous all by itself as only half typically hatch. They wanted Owen to name them as a gesture of goodwill.  The first three were Foxy, Golf, and India. Claire thought it would be a good idea to allow a donor to name one of them. “ _Hell no_.” They bartered down to a naming contest among the public. “Let the kids pick it.” That he could be okay with. So they had the kids enter ballots for two weeks after they hatched, and Owen and Claire were supposed to pick the winner.

They must have had 500 entries and they narrowed it down to ten they both agreed on and had fifty left to get through. It was 12:30 and they had to get the name for the press release by 6 AM. Owen was slumped in the chair in her office, feet doubled up on her desk. She’d given up trying to get him to take them off, the second she looked away he kicked his feet right back up there. And no amount of glaring was working because she was part of the reason they were there so late. Her and her _fucking organizational skills from hell_ , if you asked Owen. Claire made them pick a certain amount from each day they were submitted and they’d narrow down from there. Owen thought they were all stupid. _Fluffy? What weirdo kid wants to name a gator Fluffy?_ She just shrugged. _An ironic one?_ If he’d had the choice, they would have pulled a random one from the pile and called it a day. But Claire was meticulous, and she also knew that if he didn’t pick the name he’d resent that one gator forever.

“Seriously, Claire, just pick one from the ones you like.”

“No!” she insisted, “ _you_ have to like it.”

“I don’t get why you’re so worked up about this.”

She swung around in her chair a couple of times. She was equally frustrated, mostly because Owen was being such a shit about the whole thing. Finally, she stopped to come face to face with Owen, folding her hands primly on the desk. “We need to pick a good name from a good submission, and have it be a name that you like. Not only because it’s good PR for the zoo, but because we’ve made this a part of our life now.”

For a second while he watched her, Claire thought he was going to argue with her and say just to pick one. But then he just leaned back in his chair, “How many more do we have?”

With a smile, she pulled out a paper from the box, “Last one.” She straightened, paper in her hands, and then stopped short to arch a brow at him. “What? No drumroll?” He chuckled.

“Just read it.” Claire wanted to, she really did, but when she looked down at the paper she was stopped short. The question was whether she should even bring it up or just pull a fast one and say it wasn’t worth discussing. It really was astonishing how many Steve’s and Joe’s were in the pile. This was different though, a submission from a ten year old named Katelyn from Madison. “What’s wrong?”

She looked back up at him, “Uhm,” and handed him the paper, “here, just…” Owen’s face went from confused as he read, to understanding. In his signature move, a hand went to the back of his neck, and he dragged it along to rest on his shoulder.

“Wow.”

“Yeah, I know. Is…I mean, I think it’s…”

“Perfect. It’s perfect.”

“So no question? We’ve got our name?”

“Violet.” 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yell at me for grammar, please!

Claire was in the middle of a back and forth email thread about a new donor when Owen sauntered into her office. Instead of lounging around like he usually did, Owen grabbed the back of her chair and started wheeling her toward the door. She was mid email so she didn’t protest or ask where they were going, even when he grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet and down the hallway. It was easier to go along with it so that he didn’t distract her from reading. Finish reading first, then yell.

The zoo was about to get a two million dollar donation, but it was contingent upon an exhibit being named after the donor. The guy wanted to upgrade the gorilla facility and plaster his name on it. Unfortunately, it was named after a deceased but beloved zoologist and gorilla caretaker. The board was divided. Management wasn't thrilled. The truth was Claire wasn’t invested either way; if they shot him down, she'd sweet talk him back over. After all, sharks were getting popular again.

So no, she didn't notice that Owen was leading her to the training center where they brought in animals for examination, training, and outreach programs. She didn’t notice the smell of the Reptile House or how it was completely empty, and she didn’t notice that a cot had been set up in a corner. Owen had been spending most of his time there with the baby gators individually and as a group. He would put them in a big plastic tub, filled a quarter way up with water so that he could clicker train them. He thought it was going pretty well, but they were still very young. Time would have its say.

Unlike the rest of the zoo employees, Claire was actively disinterested in the baby gators. Everyone had been round to see them, pet them, and had pictures taken except Claire. She insisted she was too busy, that she had plenty of time to see them and that Owen talked about them all of the time anyway. “It’s like I’ve already seen them,” she’d repeat distractedly.

She felt him situate her in front of a table, but she was still reading a board member’s response to the idea of using some of the donation to erect a statue outside the gorilla exhibit for their beloved late employee. Owen hadn’t spoken yet, but he was bustling around the room, jostling things, opening and shutting something metal, and making shushing noises. Quickly, she started typing a response to the email she’d just received, to make them aware that she knew of a sculptor who did some amazing work that was tasteful and striking. As she did so, Owen had come to stand behind her, chin resting on her shoulder.

“Claire,” he whispered, “look.”  

She raised her eyes up over the top of her phone where two reptilian eyes met her from the transparent tub. Yellow eyes, yellow-green, like the Indominus’, like the raptors’. Instinctively, she felt herself tense under its tiny scrutiny. When she did, Owen’s grip on her tightened. Being near the alligator habitat was much different than being up close and personal with them. She’d been there a total of 2 times, the interview and the day of the egg retrieval. The shape of their heads, the smell of the water and mud, their eyes; basically, it wasn’t what Claire was interested in looking at in the least. Nightmares still came and went, but sometimes the panic attacks would come without warning. Fast and hard, with fast being the operative word. She and Owen had been working on recognizing and stamping out panic attacks. By themselves, of course, because shrinks were idiots with fancy degrees. Breathing techniques worked the best for Claire, so she inhaled deeply a couple of times.

“Which one is it?” she asked, maybe a little too breathlessly to be dignified, but at least she could speak.

“ _She_ ,” he chided her gently, “is Violet.”

“Oh.”

“I thought you might like to meet her, since she seems to be living up to her pseudo-namesake.”

“Aggressive?” she asked, wanting to back up just a little even though Owen was a solid wall behind her.

“They’re all aggressive. They’re animals. But,” he picked up her hand in his, “they can be taught who to trust.” Slowly, they reached out to the gator, Owen directing her fingertips to the top of its head between the eyes. “Everybody’s been telling me that the gators won’t imprint on me. That as soon as they see Zelda, they’ll go to her for protection.”

Claire took in a shaky breath, feeling the dry, smooth skin under her fingers. “But you think differently?”

“Nah,” he lifted his hand to stroke down the baby’s back. “Not a good idea if they’re ever going to rehab them for the wild. But, I can’t say I’m not tempted to try.”

“Where are the others?” Claire tried to focus on the ridges of Violet’s skin, the bumps, the crevices, instead of her tiny beady eyes. She kept reminding herself that the most damage the bitty thing could do at the moment is prick her finger, maybe take it off if she tried really hard. This animal was a baby, a baby innocent of the horrific things the Indominus had done. They weren’t the same. Violet was natural, Violet came from something solid and real, and not a test tube. No one had hacked her DNA to make her bigger and stronger for the thrill of it. The scientists here weren’t under any kind of pressure to create attractions. She was an alligator. Wow enough.

“In the habitat with Mama Z. Right where I’ll take Violet once we’re done here.”

“You’re letting the babies run around out there?” Everything she knew about animal care was narrowed to containment. If they were in a cage, then they were safe from humans and humans were safe from them. Clean and easy.

He nudged the side of her cheek. “Social skills are important. Especially in captivity.” Claire let her two fingers push a little further back on the skull, almost stroking. Violet blinked. Claire lifted her fingers to stroke her again, but the baby gator, bored, darted away to the other side of the tub, her little tail flicking up water. Violet started chirping, looking for her nest mates or her mama, either way, it made Claire jump a little.  Evidently, she didn’t like being alone. Owen sidestepped, reached out to grab her up, the poor thing chirping all the time. It was amazing to think that one day she would outgrow her gecko length to near 10 feet. That, at the moment, she fit in Owen’s hand, but in a few years she would be able to fit his arm in her mouth. Owen grasped the reptile firmly but gently, his thumb on her bitty head, and he used the other to stroke her back, tail, and legs in an effort to soothe. Claire was surprised how docile Violet was, how still she became even when held. 

“So are you going to tell me what the point of this is? Why you brought me here?” Owen didn’t look up at her, just shrugged. “Owen…” she was rolling her eyes, _hard_ , and was seriously contemplating walking out.

“You hadn’t been down here yet,” he said quickly. “I get why, I know, I’m sorry, that’s on me. Okay? But, it’s like you said, this,” he held up Violet for emphasis, “is a part of our life now. I helped hatch them, we helped name them. And you won’t even let yourself _look_ at them.”

She crossed her arms, letting a finger tap nervously against the screen of her phone, responses pinging and being ignored. “I know, I’m sorry. It’s just the last time we did this…I mean, you training dangerous reptiles, me schmoozing donors and giving stupid names to exhibits… ”

“Yeah,” he agreed, releasing Violet back into the tub, “I remember.” Owen walked toward her, hands going to her elbows and keeping eye contact, “But it’s not the same.”

“I know.”

“Do you? Have you really factored in every detail that’s different? Or did you miss a big one?”

“I made decisions that were mistakes, and people died. I put 20,000 lives at risk.”

“And then fixed it.”

“That doesn’t absolve me. That doesn’t mean anything has changed.”

“And what, you think I’m not responsible? That there weren’t dozens of us who made equally bad decisions?” She looked confused. “I should have made damn certain the I-rex had escaped before anyone went in there. I should have asked. I shouldn’t have taken for granted that she was a test tube baby, and that she could’ve had _anything_ going on in there.”

“None of us knew what Wu was cooking up.”

“And that makes me any less responsible? You can’t have it both ways. You can’t say it’s your fault and not Simon’s and mine and Wu’s and Hoskins’. Was I right when I said a hybrid was a terrible idea? Yes.   
Was I right when I said letting the raptors loose was a stupid decision? Absolutely. But we made the best decisions we could at the time. Then we fixed it. You saved thousands of lives, Claire, and it could’ve gone a lot differently.” She exhaled shakily, and Owen pointed back at Violet, “This is good. What we’re doing is good. Besides, if I ever think you’re jumping on the crazy train, I’ll pull you out. We’re in this together, right?”

“Together.”

“I’ve got your six.”

Claire shifted her weight, still not uncrossing her arms, and kind of bounced a little in her indecision. Owen was still watching her, but her eyes went over to Violet who happened to be watching them. It was almost like she was curious as to what Claire would decide. Almost like a puppy sitting on a family’s door step wondering if they were going to be let inside. It bordered on pathetic, but she couldn’t prevent her lips from stretching to that tight, long line.

“She is _kinda_ cute.” Claire walked by him to bend in front of the tub, bringing herself eye level to Violet. Owen set up right beside her.

“Super cute.”

“But she’s going to get bigger.”

“That tends to happen, yes.”

“I’m not optimistic that she won’t try to rip your leg off.”

He let out a laugh that startled the little creature, “Eh, lemme worry about that one. I’m sure if she does, it’ll be my fault anyway.”

“And Tony is absolutely _not_ allowed in the habitat with you.”

“You might need to let that go, dear.”

“Not any time soon.”

“He’s a kid, he’ll learn.”

“Fine, next time, you let _him_ lose a limb.” 

“Deal.”

They shook on it for the sake of formality because Owen knew very well that she wouldn’t let it go otherwise. Kid didn’t know what he’d gotten himself into. Mentally, Owen made a note to ask Paul to restock their first aid kit. Poor Tony. Claire mentioned that it was high time they got going, and went right back to check her phone while Owen got Violet into her travel cage. Despite her small size, management wasn’t too keen on animals being held outside the habitats without restraint. Some things decidedly did _not_ change with their new positions. The latest message on Claire’s thread was from the board, they liked the idea of erecting a statue and naming the gorilla habitat after the donor. They could put a storyboard near the statue, so that more people would know their friend’s name.

“And there’s 2 mil in the bank,” she muttered.

Owen made a face, “Two million? Dollars?”

“Yup,” she answered shutting off her phone, something she was doing more and more frequently, “just for putting some old guy’s name on a sign.” Claire couldn’t help but feel smug. Dinosaurs were cake compared to this, and she was kicking ass.

Owen’s expression didn’t change and he just stared at her for a moment, carrier in hand. Then Violet chirped. “I agree V,” he told her, “people _are_ idiots.” The walk back to the gator pit was a long one, so Claire filled him in on the way.  The donor was a stock broker who’d retired to his hometown the year before. He was still dabbling in real estate, so the money was pouring in strong. He wanted to make the donation for a tax break, most likely.

“If we didn’t get it, somebody else would,” Claire insisted. The gorilla habitat was in need of some replacement and repair, but nothing so drastic that it required two million dollars. “We’ll dump part of it into the statue, and then some of it for the rhino pen, and the rest of it is going toward the homeless shelter program.” The program had partly been Claire’s idea, but was mostly the expansion and promotion of an existing program at several churches around town. The idea was to get volunteers from varying faith groups and communities to contribute their support in a centralized location. Very few had the facilities to have much of an effect on Madison’s pervasive homeless population, or the funds. So they had come together to donate and cook meals at one facility each week. Claire saw this as an opportunity to put a good face on for the public, especially since zoos and animal parks weren’t exactly perceived as civically minded as they had been in the past. After some wheeling and dealing, she managed to convince the board to loan out, not only their kitchens, but the Discovery Center to the project as well.  Volunteers from the churches cooked up meals and served them to families and individuals who needed a good meal. The Discovery Center was offered as a place to have a physical done, receive donations, and as a place to spend the night two times a week. It helped out the local shelters immensely because they were able to free up rooms for people who needed something long term and they were able to keep rosters of the regulars, just so someone was watching out for them. The program was a big hit. Many of the regular zoo volunteers and employees offered to donate and help out. It got so much attention that bigger name companies wanted to donate, and send over volunteers. So far, so good. Honestly, Owen was blown away by how much she’d accomplished in their few months in Madison. Her response to that was to shrug, “That’s why Simon hired me in the first place.” They were intermittently interrupted by Violet’s desperate peeping, but Owen had discovered that a response in a lower pitch would calm her down. Sometimes Violet would even match his chirp, like she was responding to him. Annoying, yes, but Claire thought it was kind of cute.

They had talked about a lot of her plans for the zoo. Part of her process was talking things out, throwing ideas at someone who wasn’t constantly reminded of the bottom line and cost effectiveness. They had focus groups, but not the kind she was accustomed to, so Owen stood in their place. The one thing she hadn’t brought up was the one thing she wanted to do the most, the one thing that meant something to her. It was silly, but if Owen didn’t respond well to it, she wouldn’t be able to go through with it. At all. Even if she was paid to do so. But not telling him made it feel like this big secret. However, she’d decided to wait until she could put something together that was feasible, something real to show him. As she watched Owen release Violet into the habitat, chirping like mad, Claire decided it was for the best. 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My god, I'm halfway through this monstrosity. Reviews are love!

Two years went fast. They were coming upon the third anniversary of Jurassic World and Zach was graduation from high school. Besides Karen’s near constant nagging for them to get married, nothing out of the ordinary happened with Claire and Owen. They happened to be just fine with that. Besides the nagging, Owen was _sick_ of the nagging.

“You know,” he told her as they drove home from Karen’s one night, “I’m about to propose to you just on principle. Just so she’s aware that this isn’t my thing.” She was tapping out an email about an upcoming fundraiser, only half-listening. _Wait until she starts talking about kids_ , she thought sullenly. No way in hell was she vocalizing that thought though, no need for that kind of mojo in the air.

“You propose to me,” she muttered back, “and you’re sleeping in the garage for a week.”

Owen jabbed a wild finger in her direction, “See! That. Right there. It’s not my fault.”

She sent the email and tossed a scowl at him, “I don’t understand why she keeps making a big deal out of it. _She’s_ divorced. And, it’s like we’re married. We’re committed and living together. Why pay all that money for some outrageous ceremony when everyone there will think we’re destined to fail?”

Owen was shaking his head, “I should be recording this, I mean, seriously.”

“I’ve never even talked to her about getting married, anyway.” _Lie._ Claire bit her lip. She knew _exactly_ why Karen was pitching a fit. Because unlike Owen, Karen knew that Claire had deliberately placed herself in a catch-22. And they definitely _had_ talked about it. Claire was drunk, naturally, and completely forgot that she’d brought it up, but Karen forgot nothing. Well, nothing that she could use to torture Claire. Claire was not the type to get married, have kids, and do the whole domestic thing. Neither was Owen, not really. However, he had a tendency to make enormous exceptions and sweepingly grand gestures when it came to Claire’s well-being. So that drunken night, when prompted, Claire admitted that if Owen asked her, she would marry him. Perhaps even that she wanted to marry him. But, and this was a huge but, she wasn’t ever going to discuss it with him unless he asked. In fact, she would shoot it down in conversation so hard that Owen would know exactly what she thought about the idea. Karen hated this plan. Claire knew it was for the best. If she actively spoke about not getting married and he still asked her, she would know for sure that _he_ wanted it. Both of them were incredibly blind and stubborn when it came to taking care of their partner. If he thought even for a second that she was unhappy that they weren’t “officially” together on paper, he would jump to do it, regardless of his own feelings on the subject. She'd seen him do it a thousand times in smaller ways, and she couldn’t let it happen with something so big. Again, Karen thought this was stupid. Claire didn’t see the problem.

Because it wasn’t a problem, not until the previously mentioned fundraiser at any rate. Every year, the Meriter Hospital had their fundraiser on the zoo’s grounds. The Annual Night at the Zoo was an exclusive party for the high rolling donors, which gave them the chance to get up close to the animals and get a behind the scenes look at their operation. It was mostly handled by the Events Department, but Claire was required to be there to keep the guests entertained and informed about opportunities at the zoo, and Owen was one of the caretakers giving demonstrations. The gator squad was about at half their size and weight, meaning that they were roughly 4 feet long and 100 pounds each. Violet was the biggest of the bunch, a little over 4 feet and 110 pounds, and definitely was Owen’s favorite. She bordered on having dog-like characteristics, coming when he whistled for her, jumping out of the water to touch her snout to his hand, even trotting alongside him through the habitat. Since she was the biggest of the younglings, they followed her lead more often than not. The older 4 were too used to his human presence to be perturbed and usually slid away when he got too close. Zelda was still somewhat protective of her young, but only watched as Owen approached them. Once again, Owen found himself in a situation where people like to say he “controlled” the alligators. Rolling his eyes he told Claire, “I probably shouldn’t tell them that Violet almost took my hand off last week.” At which she scowled, and responded that if he was going to complain when people said he was good at his job, maybe he should find another profession. Which was a joke. Owen was happy as long as he got to spend time with the gators every day.

Having made her rounds for the evening, Claire wandered her way over to the gator pit where Owen was set up, showing off the girls. He insisted that people were only interested because he was widely known as the Raptor Trainer, but she thought people were just fascinated. He’d get in the pits with them, swim with them, Violet even let him hold onto her back while she swam. His was usually one of the more popular exhibits, during the regular hours, fundraisers, or otherwise. It was inevitable that Claire was going to get attached to at least _one_ of the damned things, and it turned out to be Estelle. She was the oldest of the congregation, and happened to be the biggest. The males were rescues from a wildlife reserve. They had been dumped their by people who thought alligators would make cute pets. Until they were 7 feet long and trying to eat the new puppy, at any rate. One of the on-site vets figured they’d been malnourished as hatchlings, and so were smaller than typical. Estelle, however, had been taken out of the wild 15 years before, when the population was getting so low that they got onto the endangered species list. There was no way to know just how old she really was, but Owen insisted that she was _pretty fucking old_ seeing as she was so calm around people and rarely moved. In fact, she was usually perched near Claire’s favorite spot along the gator pit pathways. It overlooked the pool and there was just enough room among the thickets to see into the habitat. Estelle’s spot was half in the water, half on land, facing toward the pathway. It was one of the sunnier spots, and she could retreat quickly into the water whenever necessary. That was usually when Owen or one of the caretakers came to bring her food. She made them leave it on the grassy shoreline and she would slip into the water until they were gone. Only then would she crawl out to eat. Owen called her a “fussy old broad.” So whenever she was waiting on Owen for something, Claire would lean up against the railing and talk to Estelle. At first, she felt silly, but after a while she learned that she and Estelle had many things in common, like waiting for Owen to show up when he was running late. “I know,” Claire would commiserate, “I’m hungry too. Always such a dude…” She never told Owen about it, not wanting to get teased, but being near Estelle was almost cathartic since it became a ritual.

So that’s where her meandering landed her, right across the fence from Estelle, who was obviously annoyed because her jaw was hung open and she was hissing. From a not so far distance, she heard Owen yelling at Estelle to “cut the crap,” because no one was buying it. Years later, Claire would say that she should have taken Estelle’s moodiness as a warning, but at the time she was chuckling as the old gator snapped her mouth shut.

“She’s a beautiful animal,” a male voice came from close behind her and Claire startled to the point that she nearly jumped. A hand reached out to steady her by the arm.

“Ohmygod,” she said in a rush, blushing harder than she had in a while, “I’m so sorry, you startled me Mr..?”

“McKinnon. Randall McKinnon.”

Mentally she let out a sigh of relief. McKinnon. Hospital Executive. Not a donor. Thank the lord. As far as she knew Mr. McKinnon had never been to one of these fundraisers, not in her time anyway. He was in his early 40’s, average height, slim but toned, with a full head of salt and pepper hair. He brought a plus one, not married, it was his mistress if rumor could be trusted. It often could. _She_ was married, however, and to a board member no less. That had caused quite the uproar earlier in the evening. However, he seemed to be solo at that moment. Slapping on her best PR smile, Claire held out her hand.

“Claire Dearing, I’m the Director of Marketing and Communications here.”

He took her hand and instead of shaking it, he kissed her knuckles, making her cringe a little. “I know,” he answered, “I’ve heard all about you from my colleagues. Quite impressive what you’ve done with our little zoo here.” She pulled her hand back.

“It’s only little if you choose to look at it that way.”

“I imagine everything would seem little to you after Jurassic World,” he retorted suggestively. Claire’s smile tightened and she felt her stomach clench. Most of the zoo employees were good about not mentioning Isla Nublar and the things that had happened there. Mostly because Owen had gained the reputation for chewing out anyone who made her uncomfortable, but also because they were decent and empathetic people who were kind of in the same position on a smaller scale.

“I’m not in the habit of discussing Jurassic World, Mr. McKinnon, especially not with strangers. I find it to be in poor taste.”

“Please, call me Randall.”  Claire subtly let her chest fill up with air, knowing that it was probably raising her breasts more than she’d like. It was late summer, so she’d chosen a slinky, one shouldered gown that was whiter than her skin and trailed down just past her ankles. It hardly went past them because she was propped up on three inch silver heels that Owen only shook his head at. Her hair had grown out some which gave her a natural wave that fell just below her shoulders, and her bangs were side swept now,  a style that was starting to grow on her. And this McKinnon was eyeing her like a piece of meat. And she didn’t like that. If her smile got any tighter, she’d look like she was using Botox. With a breath she reminded herself that it was inappropriate to feed the gators, especially if the food was a guest.

“Have you seen our American Alligator demonstration, Mr. McKinnon? It’s really very wonderful,” she led him over to where Owen had set up on the feeding dock. Usually, it was done in the visitor area, but for special events, guests were able to get a closer look. There were a dozen or so people standing around with champagne in formal attire while Owen played with Violet and the girls, teasing them a little to get them to perform. He hated doing it, but as he said, it paid the bills, and the girls didn’t mind. McKinnon was standing far too close to her, asking questions about the habitat.

“And I hear this…gentleman…worked for you at Jurassic World?” The subtleties of his question did not go unnoticed. Owen was talking pretty loudly about how stubborn Violet could be after she was fed, referring to the fact that they mostly ate and slept because hunting had been taken out of the equation. Being fed meant she could sleep, so he’d fed her sparingly throughout the day so she would be cooperative for the guests.

“Owen worked _with_ me there. In a different role. He was a contracted to train the velociraptors for the park. Keep them contained.”

“So not really _with_ you,” he argued. It was a struggle not to sneer. “I mean, correct me if I’m wrong, but contractors aren’t exactly upper management. Especially not the one taking care of assets.”

“The _animals_ ’ care was very high on our list of priorities. And in case you haven’t heard, the hierarchy at Jurassic World wasn’t exactly what anyone would call conventional.” When the dinosaurs got out, they didn’t care if you were wearing Armani or something pulled from Goodwill. They were going to attack you just the same. Were they really the only people to have learned that?

“Well, I hear he’s making “progress” with these ones. Although, most of my girlfriends would rather wear them than learn about them. Can’t really see how it would be useful.”

She cut him off, “It helps them adjust to captivity. It helps that they can trust the hand that feeds them.” 

“Ah, I can see you’re quite defensive of his work.”

“Yes, well I get defensive when my partner’s work is trivialized.”

“Partner?”

“Yes, partner. Boyfriend. Significant other. However you’d like to call it.”

“But not husband?” He pointed to his own left ring finger, and tapped condescendingly. Claire was officially losing her cool. He was too close, he behaved way too familiar, and now thought he had an opening because there wasn’t a ring on her finger. Wasn’t he dating a married woman anyway? How was that supposed to work? Was every woman just fair game given the right opportunity, for fuck’s sake? It was too hot, she was too tired and annoyed for his crap. It would be better to end the conversation and risk insulting him than tolerating it. He took her silence as hesitation or embarrassment, or really, encouragement. “So not man enough to seal the deal, eh? Seen it before. Men playing fast and loose with their women, letting them become dissatisfied to the point where they wander.”

“Marriage is a piece of paper, Mr. McKinnon, as you well know.”

He smiled, she wanted to puke. “I’m glad you feel that way.” She felt a hand at her waist.

“However,” she removed his hand from her person perhaps a little more roughly than she needed to. They were getting an audience now, some of the women side eyeing them. “I am the commitment type.”

“But is your Owen?” he asked. “One hears things.” Of course one _heard things_. Owen was an attractive man with a penchant for dangerous and slightly scary animals. He had a dark past, experience in the military, and well, he was hot. There was no tip toeing around the side eyeing he received from the rest of the breathing, sexually active populace; men and women flirted with him. And he was pretty nice about it, letting them down gently. It would be idiotic to think that his eye never strayed, that he was some kind of faithful, blind dog completely consumed with her. That was a strange, self-absorbed fantasy concocted by the insecure. No, Owen definitely noticed other women, and he was usually pretty vocal about it. Usually, he asked for her opinion, since they were the same amount of superficial in that regard. Claire would get concerned if he never mentioned that a woman was attractive or cute, and she tolerated the word hot, but only when came to celebrities. If he didn’t mention it, he was hiding it, and that was worse to her mind. So no, she was more aggravated by the man’s gall than worried that Owen was cheating.

Naturally, she punched him in the nose.

It happened really fast and she’d hardly had a moment to think about what she was doing, but his hand was drifting near the small of her back and he was still _too close_. One more jab at Owen had set her off and swinging. There was a crack, and his yelp, and then their guests’ screams and gasps as he hit the ground. They had grouped off to the side, leaving Claire standing there shaking out her hand and wincing at her bloodied knuckles. “Damn that still _hurts_.”

Owen had been preoccupied with what Violet was doing until he heard someone scream. That certainly got his attention. He hadn’t realized Claire was there, but when he looked up, people were moving away, there was a loud thunk, and there she was clear as day on the dock. She looked like she was in pain? Shaking out her hand…did she _hit_ somebody? He put out a quick hand to send the girls away, and they languidly ambled off. Doing what management _constantly_ tried to remind him not to do, he jumped and pulled himself over the dock railing. When he straightened, he put his hands to his hips and looked around to assess the situation. The guests were clearly freaked out and some guy in a tux was on the ground bleeding from his nose.

“What the hell, Claire?”

She noticed him for the first time, and rounded on him. He knew that look. “You,” she snapped, “you are going to marry me, cause I’m not dealing with this _shit_ anymore!” She threw an arm in her victim’s direction, making it pretty clear to him what had happened. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a small velvet bag and tossed it to her, then put on his showman’s smile and rounded on the guests.

“Allrightie folks, sorry about the scare. Show’s over! If you’d be so kind as to make your way back toward the tent, we’ll get refills on those drinks for you.”  Slowly, they started to shuffle away, talking hysterically amongst themselves, leaving one man lingering behind. He smelled like cinnamon, had a shock of white hair and brown eyes that looked somewhat amused. He addressed Claire.

“Don’t worry dear, I heard everything. I’ll make sure he’s taken care of.”

Claire was looking between him, Owen, and the bag in her hand. “And you are?”

“Quentin Meriter, I own the hospital this young fella works for.”

“Mr..?” she stuttered out, “Mr. Meriter, I’m so sorry you had to see that…I really…”

He waved her off with a chuckle, “Now, now Ms. Dearing, no harm done. It’s about time he learned to keep his hands to himself.” He turned to McKinnon who was trying to sit back up and assisted, “Come along, Randall, let’s go find somebody to look you over. These nice young people need to finish the proposal you prompted.”

McKinnon grunted, “Glad to be of service,” and Mr. Meriter helped haul him off toward the party where a dozen or more doctors would be able to help him. Owen saluted him indolently as they went. So then it was just Claire and Owen standing on the feeding dock of the gator pits.

Claire stared down at the velvet bag in her hand, her fingers feeling its contents and predicting its identity. With a breath she opened it to reveal a marquise cut diamond set into a white gold band. The setting looked older, somewhat vintage. Then her heart dropped into her stomach when she realized he’d pulled it from his pocket.

“Son of a bitch!” she hissed out, “How long have you had this?” She couldn’t look at him, so she stared at the ring, trying to convince herself she wasn’t tearing up.

His answer was a shrug, “Since before we moved here.” Now, she looked at him, mouth gaping, and little frozen in shock. Owen spread his arms out, sort of confused as to what was happening and trying to catch up.

Claire was furious, but not. “ _You jackass_! I can’t believe you had this the whole time and sat there listening to me tell you I didn’t want to get married. Why did you even keep it?”

“Because it was _such_ bullshit, Claire! If I had asked you the second we got back from the island, which is when I called my mom for that by the way, you would have said yes and you fucking know it.”

“Then why didn’t you?” It was meant to come out in some provoking way, full of disdain like she didn’t care at all, but it didn’t. Her voice wavered too much to sound like anything but put out. And she knew she’d lost the upper hand when his face softened. The great and terrible thing about Owen was that even when she lost the upper hand, he’d let her have it. And there was a strong flash of irritation shooting through her when she felt herself deflating. He took a couple steps toward her, carefully, like she was one of his girls.

“Because,” he started to explain, “you were back and forth about it and didn’t believe I wanted it. Even if it was random and spontaneous.” He reached out for her hands and she gave them over so he could put the ring on her. It looked right, perched there, fitting just so on her finger.

“It fits,” she whispered.

“Yeah, I’m sneaky like that.”

Claire was breathing pretty heavily, worked up from McKinnon and her impulsive marriage demand, and then the ring and Owen. It was adrenaline, a different kind of adrenaline than the sheer terror when you’re getting chased around by dinosaurs, but adrenaline nonetheless. It was something she used to thrive on when she worked for Masrani, billions of dollars in the balance, all dependent on her. It was like an old friend coming to pat her on the back, make or break time baby.

“You want to marry me.”

“Yes, I do.”

Claire pulled her lips in, took that last step into his personal space, and looked up at him. He was already watching her, just as always. “Do you remember that night at Karen’s? Before we moved?” She hardly heard his murmured yes as she snaked her arms over his shoulders and around his neck. His hands were along her sides, fingers splayed wide and gripping her. Behind them they heard the grumbling of the gators, some thrashing into the water, the noises resounding through the pits. The air was hot and damp, her hands were bloody, and Owen had been romping around in the mud with reptiles. Nothing had changed, not really. She pressed herself against him. “I wanted to marry you then, and I want to marry you now.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes really.”

He twisted up his lips playfully. “I dunno, I need to think about it.”

Claire gasped, slapping his chest, “Shut up!”

“No seriously,” he told her trying not to laugh, “Ow, Claire, geez. I’m serious! All that money for a ceremony when everybody’s thinking it’s gonna fail anyway?” Claire grimaced at her own words being thrown back at her. Words she kind of meant, actually. Even though she was thinking, she was far too content within the circle of his arms to move. He quieted when she did.

“Small thing? You, me, Karen, the boys, your parents, and Barry next weekend?” she asked in a rush. He was quiet, just watching her. “Hell, we can just make them take us out for dinner afterward. I just want to do it.”

“You sure about this? No big plans, no organizing, no party? Just us?”

“Just us,” she confirmed, putting her hands to the side of his face, “you and me. Dream team.”

“Phase 2.”

“Phase 3,” she corrected, his eyebrows shot right up, “moving into the house was Phase 2, come on, Owen.” He laughed and kissed her, lifting her just slightly off of the ground. Claire was mostly hanging on by his neck, and was giggling to boot. He gave her a hard swing, laughing boisterously as she’d gotten used to, just bursts and bursts of pure, goofy joy. With one last peck to her lips, he dropped her steady to her feet and started pulling her by the hand down the walking path at a brisk pace. “Where are we going?”

“We’re getting fucking _married_ , Claire!” he told her, “We’re going to go have a drink, a dance, and be absolutely obnoxious about it for the three hours we’re allowed.” She took a few quick steps to catch up with him and rolled herself to up against his side.

“And what happens after three hours?”

Keeping their momentum, he moved to press her up against a post on his left. Owen kissed her hard and deep, unrelenting in his need to express exactly what he had planned. When he pulled back, he smiled wolfishly, letting her also see the lust pumping through him, “After three hours, I take you home.”

Owen made good on all of his promises. He whisked her back into the tent and proceeded to make the announcement over the microphone. They were cheered on, well wished, and toasted. The band played a song for them. People came to congratulate them by the dozens. Owen saw Mr. Meriter off in a corner, and he lifted a glass to him. Owen nodded and watched the old man leave. But Owen’s attention was soon back on Claire who was now a little tipsy, beaming, and clinging to him. Lord, he loved handsy Claire. He loved drunk and handsy Claire, too. She was eating up his attention, responding to it, and damn it if he didn’t feel like a flower in the heat of the sun she was. He felt his roots sink in, he felt stronger, better when she was next to him. That’s why he’d gotten the ring from his mother years ago. He wanted to be ready the moment she said the word. He didn’t even hesitate, it was just a reaction to give her the ring. He’d been waiting for the opportune moment. As he danced with Claire, he inhaled the smell of that pricey shampoo she insisted on having, something organic and lavender. The perfume on her neck was something dusty and faint, and reminded him of their home. The home she’d already made for them in the life they’d started to build together.

He and Claire had faced down dinosaurs, mobs, firing squads, and nightmares. Then they came out the other side. They’d spat in the face of men who called themselves gods. Because Owen had never believed in their kind of power; it couldn’t be controlled. It couldn’t be contained. You couldn’t make a living being and expect it to bend to your will. You couldn’t encounter a living being and bend it to your will. You could encourage behaviors and hope for the best. You could control yourself. That was it. And sometimes, that didn’t even work out. Owen figured, if there was a god, if there was any kind of higher power out there dictating that course of the universe, then it had decided Claire, and everything that came with her, was his damn reward. And fuck, he hoped Claire thought the same. 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just noticed I haven't been posting up chapter summaries. Welp. I'm posting this all after the fact and I can't remember a damn thing about what's in each chapter or where I marked them. Apologies.

Three nights after the marriage demand, as Owen had taken to calling it, he was pulled from their bed again by another nightmare. He went downstairs to grab a bottle of Jack and a glass, taking a long pull before filling the glass. Three fingers. That had always been his usual. Wandering through the house, he wound up in the familiar spot out on the deck, looking out over the lawn. It was about combat this time, dino-free. That happened sometimes, but not often. He’d been stationed in the Persian Gulf. As a SEAL his last assignment during his third tour had been a Spec Ops mission. He’d led a squad deep into enemy waters to extract a POW out of a facility on the Iraqi coast. They’d had no authorization, no direct orders from anybody on high. If they were taken, then nobody was coming for them. Six went in, two came out. The POW died in the crossfire once they were back on water, and in the end, there was an airstrike to neutralize the situation and get them out. Damn thing about the war on terror was that everything tended to be a trap. It was some kind of set up, an inside job set into motion by Al-Qaida sympathizers. He was discharged not long after. He’d trained with those men, ate alongside them, shared life experiences.  They died because some asshole felt he was superior because of whatever the hell kind of god he believed in. Owen knew the difference between Muslims and what those guys were. Polar opposites. Al-Qaida weren’t all that different from Dr. Wu and his team. Playing god, deciding who lived and who died, condemning anyone who stood in their way, and then fleeing like the roaches they were the moment somebody fought back. But what is a god to a group of non-believers? There would always be men like Bin Laden and Hussein. Owen just hoped there would be more men like his team, like James, willing to dive head first, head long into the belly of the beast trying to do the right thing. James. He died from his injuries after they made it back to the States. They’d stood side by side at their comrades’ funerals, trying to ignore the sounds of the gunfire, and their promises that they’d get their bodies back home that haunted their ears. James who had complications during his follow up surgeries, who survived war and terrifying no-win situations only to die on some hack’s table in the suburbs. That’s when Owen had learned that it didn’t matter what you did, it didn’t matter how strong or careful you were, some things were just stronger.

That’s how Claire found him, slumped in the deck chair, and only a finger of whiskey left. He scoffed when he heard the door open. Had it been four years ago, the bottle would have been empty. Maybe two. She had a glass of water in her hand, always prepared to keep him hydrated when she thought he was out running. Then she saw the whiskey and tilted her head, holding the water glass out for a swap. He complied. She swirled the brown liquid before sitting in the chair next to him.

“Well this is different,” she muttered, still somewhat confused. He was positive that she had a mental spreadsheet of his traits and habits. In spite of their first date debacle, drinking wasn’t on the list. He drank the water instead.

“Statistically speaking, not really.”

She snorted, and he could only wonder at what Barry might have told her or what she’d concluded on her own. Claire knew him as a social drinker. Usually one and done. It hadn’t always been that way, and fighting it off was much easier with her around. Still, fighting took energy and he didn’t have it that night. In typical Claire fashion, she sniffed the alcohol and primly downed it. Owen tried not to laugh, knowing that whiskey was definitely not her drink. Claire’s poker face was a thing of beauty, however, she didn’t give away anything, didn’t flinch. _Ice Queen_. People on the island had loved throwing that moniker out whenever she pissed them off, which was often. Claire had a park to run; she wasn’t into holding hands and making friends. She had a similar dynamic with people at the zoo: standoffish, distant, remote. Someone had mentioned that to Owen once in passing, and that started a long string of events that earned him the reputation for being overprotective. Admittedly, she was doing better and settling in. People who worked for her loved her and people who had dealings with her knew they were going to get quality service. Everyone else just kept their mouths shut about it. But that poker face, it was a thing of beauty. She looked blandly at the emptied glass and then back at him.

“That is absolutely horrible.” Now he laughed, and then passed over the water glass. “So I take it this was a bad one?”

“Nah,” he scuffed at the ground, “old one. Repeat.”

“It’s never the bloody ones, is it?” she whispered. Claire struggled with her nightmares. She discovered that the bloody ones, the graphic ones, went away after a while. It was the ones where you felt trapped, alone, and hunted that ripped you from peaceful sleep. Sometimes he didn’t even remember his. Sometimes it was just darkness, just hyper-awareness that he was being watched and followed. It was the latent paranoia that drove him to drink. Owen didn’t want to respond, he didn’t want to deal with any of it. And he was disgusted at that typical reaction. Disgusted with himself. This is what Claire had gotten herself into, and it was high time she knew it. Her voice broke into his train of thought. “Stop freaking out.”

His eyes whipped around to hers and he shivered a little because she was already watching him. “What?”

“You’re freaking out because you’ve got baggage, so you’re getting broody and self-loathing, and that is absolutely unacceptable, so just stop it.”  He chuffed and sat forward, elbows on his knees.  He waited for the explanation he knew was coming. She waved a hand in a circular motion in his direction while she talked, “You think you’re all sneaky and mysterious about your shit, but you’re really not. I see it when your eyes glaze over and you stop talking. I know when you start blaming yourself for all of the crap you couldn’t control, especially everything before the island.” He hadn’t told her much about his time in the Navy. It was all a pretty distant memory by the time they’d met. He’d gotten used to not taking orders by then, stopped trying to control situations by then, stop telling himself that he could’ve done more that day he dreamed about. He didn’t talk about it and she didn’t ask. But obviously, for the entire length of time he’d been studying her, watching her, she’d been watching him.

“Usually doesn’t get this bad.”

“So why now?”

He sat back and held out a hand to her, and she took it and crawled into his lap. “Well, remember James?”

“Your friend from the Navy?” He’d told her a story or two about James, but not what happened, not how he died.

“Yeah. Last time I was home was for his funeral.” He heard her small _Oh_. “I guess I hadn’t thought much about it until we decided we were going so you could meet mom.”

She fingered at the edge of his sleeve. “Would you rather not go?”

“Honey, you talk to my mother more than I do and you’ve never even seen her. Is that not messed up?”

Her eyes went to his, “I’m being serious. You say the word and we’re not going.”

“Claire…”

“No!” she poked at his arm, “ _You_ are my most important thing. Not your parents, not everyone’s opinions on the subject, just you. _We_ are more important. So don’t give me that shit.”

He silently chuckled at the phrase. “Well, it’s not so much home that’s the problem. More my dad.”

“ _Figures_ ,” she hissed. Claire Dearing did not have a very high opinion of Derek Grady. Between stories from Owen and how his mother danced around certain subjects on the phone, she’d learned to hate the guy’s guts. This hadn’t been Owen’s intention, but as evidenced by her violent reaction to Randall McKinnon’s suggestion that he was unfaithful, Claire was somewhat blind when it came to defending him.

Owen cleared his throat, letting himself focus on the feeling of her skin under his hands as they graze along her thighs. He tried to keep his mind centered on the warm weight of her in his arms, tried to match her easy breathing. “James didn’t die in combat. He uh…he was injured during our last mission. When we got home they patched him up, and he was fine for a month or so. But something went wrong. He was bleeding internally and didn’t know it, just walking around hemorrhaging. Died on the ER table.”

“Oh, Owen…”

“My dad made some comments. Not worth repeating, but we got into it. I got the call from InGen that day and I never went back.”

“You’re not making me like the guy any better.”

“He was drunk. Didn’t know what he was saying.”

“That’s not a good enough excuse for _anything_. Especially when it comes to family.  I supposed he said something particularly revolting?” He made a face. “Right, not worth repeating.” She put a hand to his chest, “We’d better hope that he has enough common sense to keep his mouth shut while I’m there or this isn’t going to go very well.” She patted his chest one more time before getting to her feet and holding out her hand to him.

He took it, “You just cozy up to ma and let me worry about him.”

She pulled him along by the hand up to bed, “All’s I’m saying is that I will have no problem re-opening these scabs.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay tough guy. Bed.”

*

They were set to leave for Chicago the next day. Claire had called Owen’s mother to tell her about their engagement and the plans for the ceremony, and while she was excited, she was also disappointed that they had never met. It was a 3 hours car ride, hour long flight. Owen couldn’t argue about it, especially not when Claire made the point that she talked to the woman once a week and hadn’t even seen a picture of her. “Grandmother to my future children. _Only_ grandmother.” He’d shut up right then and made sure that he had someone to cover for him that Sunday.

The drive there went quickly, Owen insisted on driving which meant he had to listen to emo crap about philosophical mumbo jumbo. It didn’t matter. His mind was other places. For one, Claire had been dead set on keeping him in bed so that he got a good night’s sleep, and that meant that he didn’t actually sleep until pretty late. But the three rounds of mind-blowing sex knocked him right out for a good five hours which was more sleep than he’d gotten in days. Claire’s persistence was possibly her best quality because it was systematically applied to every area of her life, including the bedroom. Every second with her completely wiped his hard drive, and he had no clue how else to explain that. So while they drove he alternated between reliving every toe curling moment of the previous night and focusing on the absolute dread in his stomach about how Claire would react to seeing how his parents lived. His dad was ex-army and his mom had always been a waitress. They lived in the south side of Chicago. Enough said.

But he needn’t have worried. As with everything else Claire approached his parents’ worn down 1950’s bungalow with a sharp eye and a poker face. If she was looking down on them, being all superior and critical and disgusted, it didn’t show on her pretty features. She hardly hesitated from the time the car door opened to walk straight to the house without looking around, without grimacing, without sniffing the air. Plenty of people did it. He expected her to. When he mentioned as much, she rounded on him, pulling off her sunglasses, hand to her hip.

“Look, I’m not going to lie. This place is a shit hole in a shit part of town.” She threw her arm back, “But those people in there raised you, so I can at least be decent enough not to mention it.” She slid her sunglasses back on. “Besides, that just means that I have work to do.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

She had that look on her face: determined. Her hands were on her hips, one cocked out to the side, and her head tipped slightly to her right. He didn’t like it. Owen shook out his shudder and walked past her to knock on the door. He didn’t like that at _all_. And Claire knew it, however, she ignored him, and greeted his mother warmly when she answered the door.

Patricia Grady hadn’t aged well. Her skin was deeply wrinkled, her joints ached from arthritis, and she was well on her way to dentures. It was a combination of smoking and poor attention to health and dental care. Her hair was an ashy gray, knotted back in that style familiar to women who’d lived through the 1980’s. She wore a neat, button up dress that feel an inch below her knees. It was a faded baby pink color which suited her complexion and brought out the blue in her eyes. It was the same blue in Owen’s. They were an observant set of eyes, and remarkably kind. She had pleasant symmetrical features which echoed her son’s and made her all the more endearing to Claire. Just as expected, Patti was a hugger, and wrapped Claire quickly into a tight embrace.

“It’s so wonderful to meet you, dear, oh how lovely. Aren’t you just a picture? But so _skinny_. Goodness, Owie, do you not provide this girl with enough food?” From the side of the embracing pair, Owen made a fake laughing face when Claire looked up at him.

“Good to see you too, ma,” Owen said grumpily. The old woman tutted and hugged her son, pinching his cheek a little. “Speaking of non-providers, where’s dad?” he asked her, walking toward the kitchen. Patti threw Claire an exasperated glance, who smiled tightly and followed her where Owen had gone.

“Now you stop that before he gets back. I won’t have you two duking it out in front of guests.” Owen grunted that she hadn’t answered the question as she bustled about pulling out cookies and lemonade she’d made. She scowled. “At the track, where else?” Owen let out a derisive snort from the seat he’d taken at the table, and Claire backhanded him in the chest. Derek Grady had a “small gambling problem,” if you asked Patti. It was a small problem in the same way that alcoholics had a small problem when they woke up in hospitals without knowing how they got there. Their tiny house had been re-mortgaged several times already. Whatever money the elder Grady didn’t gamble away was spent on booze. Claire didn’t like Owen’s attitude toward his mother about the whole thing, which was usually condescending. At least he had a father, she told him once. Owen responded that he’d rather have a dead father than the shitty living one he had. That comment had led up to one of their worst and nastiest fights to date. It took them a long time to calm down, but once they realize what they were doing, letting Owen’s father wreck their relationship, Owen relented and apologized which was something he didn’t do often.

“That’s okay Patti, we’ll catch him at dinner,” Claire intervened before the conversation got too sharp. She initiated the pleasantries, asked how her book club and water aerobics class was going. Claire had a near perfect memory, and used it to make nice with Patti to the point that they were chatting and laughing without Owen’s presence being absolutely necessary. He blamed his mom for a lot of shit, but later he would finally admit that it was good to see them getting along. Claire _liked_ Patti, despite Owen’s assumptions. She was sweet but tough, and perfectly capable of taking care of herself. She was a faithful wife to her husband and took care of him, but she considered their lives to be independent of one another’s. Patti had no problem doing things by herself, or making excuses for her husband’s absence. She was accustomed to him not being around anyway. But she wasn’t _bitter_ about it, “I knew what he was before we got married. Be silly to complain now.” Claire just wanted to keep everything light and positive; she showed Patti pictures of the house, talked about the work they were doing, told her about the boys and what they were up to. Claire could see Patti relax, especially when she started telling Claire stories about Owen’s childhood. Occasionally Owen would gently correct her, but he didn’t participate much. There was the beginnings of a small smile on his face though, Claire could see it. When Patti went in search of some old photo album, Claire reached across the table to him.

“You doing okay?”

“Yep.”

“You don’t sound like it,” she muttered back a little sing songy.

“I could be better.”

“And?”

“ _And_ waiting for my dad to get home is bringing up some not so awesome memories.”

“Understood.”

When Patti got back, Claire asked about the old impala she had parked on the street and if it was still making that weird noise. Patti, loquacious as she was, launched into a near five minute monologue about how much trouble that car had been giving her. Claire shot Owen a meaningful look, “Honey, why don’t you go take a look at it? We can chat and get lunch started.” The sheer look of gratitude on Owen’s face was enough to make Claire want to cry, he just agreed, dropped a kiss to her shoulder, and ambled outside to find the tools and the car. Claire smiled at his back.

“I never thought he’d come back here,” Claire looked over to see Patti’s eyes at the door too. Hers were sadder, much more tired.

“I know he’s got issues with your husband…”

“Ha! Issues doesn’t cover it. Those two hate each other.”

“He told me the last time he was here they fought. Something about his friend James from the Navy.”

A dark look came over her face, “I suppose that’s true. Hard to keep track. Derek drinks, he doesn’t know what he’s saying half the time.” To a stranger’s ears, that might have sounded like an excuse, but Claire had been talking to Patti for years. She knew it was just a fact that the older woman had come to accept. “Well, Owen never much liked the things he had to say. Men fight. Happens all the time.”  Patti opened up the photo album and showed her all the old school pictures, the special events, Owen with his friends on base. He was a cute little kid with floppy blond hair and those searching eyes. Even then Owen stood out in a group, dynamic, and always smiling.

“Looks like he was a happy kid,” Claire murmured.

Patti hummed, taking a drink of lemonade, “As long as his daddy was away, he sure was.” Claire suggested they start getting lunch ready, and they divided tasks so that Patti was at the counter and Claire the table asking questions about photographs she liked. Patti talked a little more about what Owen was like as a child, the kinds of things he liked to do. “Always liked animals. But we never had any pets. Most bases didn’t allow ‘em back then.” Claire asked about the dig with Dr. Grant, about how Owen reacted to it. Patti laughed, “He kept calling everything oversized turkeys, complaining about how bored he was. Until poor Dr. Grant scared the bajezzus outta him. Shut ‘im up for a time. He was so _mad_ that day. Can’t remember why.”

“He wanted to go to the zoo,” both women turned around to find Derek Grady shuffling into the kitchen. He was tall, well over six feet, balding and bloated, somewhat sunburnt, and red around the nose and eyes. In his prime, he would have been a handsome man. Patti was quiet, getting up to get him some lemonade and passing it off without comment. Claire could sense the tension rising, but didn’t want to say anything to snap the tenuous cord between them. “Boy wanted to see live things, not old bones.” He coughed, wheezing and then gulping down the lemonade before her turned to Claire. “Who the hell are you?”  

Truthfully, that was all she needed to go on. In a move that echoed her mannerisms with Owen on Isla Nublar, she stood and channeled her board room stance, letting her expression become passive. Had Owen been in the room, he might have chuckled at how reminiscent it was of the day she came to ask him to check out the Indominus’ paddock. All business, all professional. She held out her hand, “Claire Dearing. I’m going to be your daughter-in-law.” The elder Grady eyes her warily before shaking her hand.

“Didn’t know Owen was engaged,” he mumbled and moved to sit at the table. Claire rolled her eyes.

“It’s recent,” she snapped. Her hands folded in front of her almost immediately, a defensive tick she’d picked up. Now that she had seen Derek Grady in the flesh, she wasn’t keen on being around him without Owen. However, there was some business she needed to handle first.

Mr. Grady only grunted in response to the announcement and picked at the fruit salad sat in front of him, “Where’s he at anyway?”

“Outside, working on your wife’s car,” she answered tersely. All she got was a brow tick. Pulling teeth. “I’m going to go get him to come and eat, but before I go Mr. Grady, there’s something we need to discuss.” He opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off. “My priorities center around Owen. I brought him here because you and your wife eventually are going to be grandparents and every kid deserves to know their grandparents. At least one of them. So I don’t give a damn about what your relationship with your son is like, I don’t care if you hate him. You’re going to play nice and bury the hatchet so that when I bring my children here, I don’t have to make sure you’re absent.”

His face pinched up with every word she spoke, ready to start shouting or swinging until he realized she was a twig of a woman who was tossing sharp words in his direction and expecting a result. “And if I don’t?” Derek Grady was nothing if not stubborn. He did things the way he wanted to, and didn’t give a damn who thought badly of him. But he was a whole lot of bark with no bite. Claire was not.

She smiled and told him primly, “And if you don’t, I’ll move your wife into our house and leave your sorry drunken ass to rot here.” It wasn’t a threat and they both knew it. Patti Grady would throw her husband over for her son any given day. She was faithful, she was loyal, but she was a mother, and her son’s father had crossed a few too many lines during their marriage for her to take his side in that moment. “Do I make myself clear?” He looked away sullenly, not responding. “Good,” she chirped out, smiling widely at Patti, “I’ll go get Owen then.”

Walking out the front door, she followed the sound of clanking metal to find Owen elbow deep in the hood of his mother’s car. He’d pulled it through to the backyard, out of the way.  From the looks of it, she had no idea what the heck he was doing. In spite of his best efforts to educate her on car maintenance and repair, she resisted learning claiming that he could fix whatever need fixing in that regard. Claire came around the side of the car so he’d see her and not startle, also a habit she’d picked up from him. Scaring each other into a panic attack or a flash back was not high on their list of priorities.

“Hey,” he said still under the hood, “lunch ready?” Claire responded yes and waited while he put things up, closed the hood, and wiped off his hands. They were shaking.

“The smell still getting to you?” she asked, taking them in hers.

“Not as bad as it used to.”

“So still bad.”

“Tolerable at best.”

She hummed and took the rag from him to wipe a smudge of oil off his face. “You’re father’s here.”

“Wonderful.”

Her eyes ticked over to his and then back to the smudge, “We talked about this.”

“Yup. Play nice.” He shook out his neck and rolled his shoulders.

“You think you can do that or do we need to go?”

Coming from anyone else with any other motivation to stay, he would have taken that offer, and they both knew it. “I don’t even know what playing nice with my dad looks like.”

“We’re about to find out,” she mumbled, walking hand in hand with him in through the back door. Apparently the Grady men playing nice looked like long, awkward silences, and clipped conversations through Patti and Claire. Patti did all the talking, and Owen directed his questions to her. They managed, and it was more than Claire had been hoping for. She imagined Derek muttered just as many comments under his breath as Owen, and  that they were both mentally berating each other, but it wasn’t vocalized. That was the important step. Owen would do a lot to prevent Claire from getting upset, and while she’d been outside, Patti reassured her husband that she would do whatever Claire wanted if that meant she got to be with her grandchildren. Since neither one could argue, they kept their mouths shut. As they were leaving, Patti hugged Claire tightly and told her it was a good first step. Claire gave her the card of a good rehab program that did pro bono work with veterans. Patti smiled sadly and promised to try. Owen told her the car would run okay if she kept changing the oil and didn’t push the thing too hard. He merely nodded at his father and walked out the door. Claire lingered because Derek did. He silently held out his hand to her, and she shook it. Claire could respect ego. She’d squashed bigger ones than Derek Grady’s, and he probably knew it too. She started to pull back to leave, but he tightened his hold on her hand just so, stopping her.

“How did you two meet, anyhow?”

“We worked together at Jurassic World. He saved my nephews. Saved my life too, a few times.” She pulled her hand back and crossed her arms across her chest. Surprisingly, no one had talked about Jurassic World during their visit. It wasn’t Owen’s favorite subject. Nor hers.

“And now you’re saving his?”

“Seems that way.”

The old man squeezed his fist, face grim. “Me and Owen never really saw eye to eye. Boy never could take orders. That’s all I ever knew.” She tensed, waiting for something vile to slip through. “Never worried much about him when he was overseas. Figured, if he went down cross enemy lines, he would die right.” He scratched the back of his neck the way Owen did when he was uncomfortable. “But when we heard about those monsters getting loose in that park…” he trailed off. “All the shit I used to get on him about seemed stupid. Didn’t seem worth it when I thought I’d never see him again.”

“You ever tell him that?”

He scoffed, his wrecked body heaving a little at the movement. “Nah. No way to make him believe me anyhow.” She could tell he was embarrassed at the pseudo- expression of emotion. It had probably been some time since he’d ever voiced concern for his son, especially to a stranger.

“You want Owen to believe you? Get sober. Stop gambling and go straight.”

“Old dogs don’t learn new tricks, honey.”

She raised her brows sharply, “Sounds like a stupid excuse that lets you have it both ways.”

He looked like he was going to yell and then deflated, “Maybe it is.”

Claire went for the door, “Get in a program Mr. Grady.” Walking out to the car where Owen was waiting, she realized that was probably the iciest thing she’d ever said to another human being. It wasn’t a “we’re doing this my way” statement, and it wasn’t a criticism of anything he’d done. Claire had told people off more times than she could count. She’d criticized skill sets, quality, and personality traits: things that could be fixed. They weren’t flaws in the person, they were flaws in the product. Derek Grady was damaged. His wounds were self-inflicted, and if he couldn’t heal them by himself, then she would make sure he wasn’t around to spread the wealth. Claire had a good feeling he understood her meaning perfectly.

Owen ranted about his father all the way back to Madison. He went from fuming to livid to exhausted, and back again to restart the cycle. Each complaint started out with some small annoyance that expanded into a tirade about his history with it and how it managed to make him miserable at some point. His drinking and gambling were the forerunners. Then there was the laziness, the unwillingness to help his mother with the house or the car, his constant absence, his bigotry, his disdain for anything “not army,” his snide opinions about Owen leaving the Navy, his grudge holding, his contempt for different lifestyles, and the hypocritical way he held onto his Protestant beliefs despite all of his aforementioned sins. There was more, Claire knew it, but either she didn’t hear it because Owen was talking so fast or he glazed over it. Some of it she’d heard before, some of it she hadn’t, but it didn’t matter either way, she just sat quietly and kept a hand on his thigh while he drove. Occasionally she had to remind him about speed limits, but other than that she was content to listen to him vent. Derek Grady was violent and abusive, and Claire could only think that she would be eternally grateful that it wasn’t a genetic trait. Though, admittedly, their steering wheel was taking some abuse as he talked. He was angry and red in the face, there was a vein in his neck that throbbed when he got this worked up. Claire made a mental to note to schedule him a physical within the next few months; someone needed to be concerned about his blood pressure. They weren’t in their twenties anymore.

He started calming down once they crossed the border into Madison. Maybe it was just the acknowledgement that there was a good distance between him and his father, or maybe just being home tempered out his energy, she couldn’t say. But the ranting and snarling gradually petered off to mild grumbling and then to silence. She didn’t snarkily ask if he was done, she didn’t ask him if he felt better, because she knew he didn’t. She knew it had been hard for him, and that he’d only done it because she asked. There were a lot of things she was willing to give him crap for, but this wasn’t one of them.

Once at the house she made them dinner, and they ate in silence. He couldn’t get the smell of fuel out of his nose, so they showered together. Claire took extra care to lather his skin and hair. She let him lean on her because he’d finally lost all of the pent up energy from the car. She had to man-handle him out of the shower when he groused that he was comfortable, and get him dressed. Boxers was all he managed to get on before he was pulling her flush against him, face buried against her neck.

“Sorry,” he grumbled out. She kissed his shoulder and walked him to the bed, his head settled on her stomach as he lay down between her legs. Cuddling had never been a “thing” for Claire. It was uncomfortable most of the time, time consuming, and far too intimate for most situations. Before Owen, before I-rex, physical contact had been objectionable to her. Owen was the exception, primarily because he thrived off of physical contact. In the aftermath, they’d both needed something to remind them that the other was there and had a pulse. Claire gradually adjusted to that need, but Owen’s multiplied tenfold. He was always finding excuses to be right next to her, leaning on her, physically putting her hand on his head. Basically, he was a giant lap dog and while that took some getting used to, Claire found she wasn’t totally against it anyway.  So this position was familiar and she knew he wanted a head rub because, as he would tell her, he had a “skull ache.” Insisting that this wasn’t a real thing had never done her any good, seeing as he’d throw nonsense arguments and pouts in her direction until she caved. Claire skipped that part and went straight to dragging her fingers through his hair and humming an old Scottish lullaby her mother had loved. Her parents used to tell her that the song was the only thing that ever soothed her when she was upset as an infant. Their mother sang it all of the time. When she died, Karen went and found a music box that played the lullaby. Maybe she had it custom-made, Claire didn’t really know, but it was used to put the boys to sleep. When they grew out of it, Karen gave it to Claire “just in case.” Owen _loved_ it, especially when she tried to sing in Gaelic, but he thought it was weird to sing to babies about people dying from famine.  She didn’t have an answer for that, but she had the music box and she hummed the words along with it.

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” she told him. “We both knew that wasn’t going to be easy.”

“I still can’t believe he didn’t make some smartass comment. I kept waiting for it,” he mumbled.

“Well,” she said attempting to sound thoughtful, “he cares about you…”

“Uh huh, yeah. What did you say to him?”

“Noth…”

“Don’t give me that shit,” he countered playfully.

She patted his head, “I may have mentioned that we’re starting a family, and that you and your mother are absolutely a part of that.”

“And?”

“And that he was, for lack of a better word, expendable.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, “Claire, he’s taken out bigger men for less than that.”

“Well,” she snipped, “he didn’t and I’m fine so…that just proves my point, he obviously cares about you.” It was the second time in a week that she had aggressively defended him. She knew she was being ridiculous and that Owen probably thought she was losing it, but Christ on a cracker, didn’t anybody ever leave him alone? She could hold down the Give Owen a Hard Time Fort all by herself, thanks. But she kind of liked the Mama Bear side to herself.

He hummed, “I think it proves that _you_ care about me, and that he’s terrified of you.”

“That is also true,” she agreed reluctantly. For a second, the thought to mention the rehab program passed her mind, but she let it go. He’d probably heard it all before, all the promises and expectations. People like Owen only believed in concrete results. Physical evidence. That’s why he never agreed to sign off on the raptors being used by InGen as weapons. That’s why he hadn’t trusted Wu and his team to create a new dinosaur. There was a Kanye West song that had gotten a lot of criticism. _What is god to a nonbeliever?_ She and Masrani and InGen, and everyone who’d invested time, money, and blood into Jurassic World, they’d never stood a chance against Owen. He wouldn’t ever get caught up in the company line bullshit they’d fed everyone about containment and safety and profits from the bigger and bolder attractions. She often thought about her culpability in pushing Wu over the line, often wondered if they could have pulled back and prevented it. Owen would gently remind her that everyone made their own choices, and Wu had definitely made his without her help. “His research was more important to him than right and wrong. The product was more important than the people. You didn’t make that call, he did.” She’d participated in the goading though, and that was unforgivable to her mind. She’d gotten caught up in Simon’s idea of “bigger and more teeth.” When she first started working there, it was easy enough to sell everyone on riding and petting the herbivores, walking among them. Somewhere along the way she’d lost sight of that. Owen never would. He’d never forget how many times his father failed to come around, failed to follow through or even just measure up to a decent father. No amount of spinning on Claire’s part would change that, and she really had tried.

“I thought I would be dead before we were ever in the same room again. Thought I would die overseas, or in the raptor paddock, and that he might show up to my funeral. Never thought I’d live long enough to see him or go to his. So it was weird, seeing him like that. No blow outs fights like last time.”

“Things have changed.”

He shook his head, “People like my father don’t change, Claire. It doesn’t happen.”  They were silent for a long time, and Claire soothed herself with the steady rhythm of stroking through his sandy brown hair, making patterns and shapes that repeated over and over again. Calming herself by calming him. 

“Can you do me a favor, though?” she asked softly.

“What’s that?”

“Have a little faith this time?” He lifted his head to glare one eye up at her. “Please?” He flopped his head back down and she heard him mumble that he could try. She stroked his head, “That’s all I ask.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Dearings! Sexy times! ZACH & GRAY!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel so weird posting this at work...keep checking over my shoulder. Whew. Reviews are love.

At 8 AM on a Saturday morning, the ceremony lasted all of twenty minutes. Short, sweet, and to the point. Claire didn’t even let Owen _suggest_ writing their own vows. Which he only would have done if she demanded it. Good thing neither one appreciated mawkishness. “Wedding,” she said, “sappy enough.” Karen was the only witness, which was more than fine with them. Barry and Owen’s parents were flying in to go out to dinner later and then they were having a small party with friends and co-workers the next day. The only downside to their whirlwind marriage was that everyone assumed she was pregnant. Which she wasn’t. Or that she’d given him an ultimatum. Which she sort of didn’t? The proposal was a tough one to explain, seeing as it was enmeshed in all the other drama from that evening. Owen enjoyed watching her try though. _You punched a guy and_ told _Owen he had to marry you?_ It really sounded worse than it was, and people weren’t exactly buying it. _Claire Dearing_ punched a man, a guest no less, in the face?

“Well honey,” Owen teased her, “not everyone’s seen you shoot a dinosaur.”

She pouted, “I should take a print of that picture to work.”

Claire would have liked to have her nephews there at the court house, but they were legally obligated to spend time with their father that morning. A fishing trip planned a month in advance. Karen decided not to tell them anything until they got back so they could celebrate without feeling guilty for enjoying time with their dad. It was hard enough that he had moved 6 hours away without making every visit complicated, and Claire respected that. It just would have been easier if Zach had been there to keep his mother from crying all over her shoulder.

It started in the bathroom, where Karen insisted Claire “get ready” even though she was only wearing a white sundress and wedges. Her hair was up in a ballerina bun, her bangs swept to the left with some stray pieces near her ears. She thought flowers would be silly and a veil outdated, so she opted out of those. Karen, however, insisted that one tradition needed to be kept. She pulled out the chain around her neck from under her blouse and over her head. On it was their mother’s wedding ring, a small little blue stones embedded into the band. It was all their father had been able to afford when they were 18, and she’d worn it every day until the day she died. Karen had kept it all that time, wearing it around her neck, but now she handed it to her little sister.

“You need your something old.”

“Oh Karen,” Claire protested as it was placed around her neck, “you don’t have to…”

“Don’t worry. Counts as something borrowed too.” They smiled at each other for a moment before Karen jerked her into a hug.

“Mom and dad would be so proud of you,” she told her a little weepily.

Claire rolled her eyes a little, “I never understood why people say that at weddings.” She played with the ring that sat on her sternum. It was strange to see it there when the only time she’d ever really looked at it was when it graced her mother’s finger. And that was such a long time ago. _Something blue_ , she thought. Karen cleared her throat trying to compose herself.

“You’ll understand when you have kids.” She paused, her eyes bugging out and getting weepy again, “Oh my god, Claire, you’re going to have kids, I can finally say that.” And that was when she started crying. Owen ducked in to see what was taking them so long, to find Claire patting her crying sister’s back. Karen screamed for him to get out, and Claire just shrugged. Owen could only shake his head and get out before Karen started throwing shoes.

Their judge was a nice middle aged woman from Kentucky with a little bit of flair for the theatrical. Her voice was deep and harsh, probably from smoking, and she put a little soul into reading the ceremony rite out loud. They just did a quick “To have and to hold, with this ring I thee wed” exchange of vows, and it was over. Claire barely even noticed that he was wearing a tie, which was astonishing all by itself.

“We have to have _one_ nice picture or nobody’s gonna believe us.”

They took pictures on top of the capitol building with Karen as their photographer. It took them over twenty minutes to go up because the Madisonites were out in force that day. Claire was grumpy because she hadn’t been fed yet and 8:30 on a Saturday was early for her. She kept curling up to Owen’s side and almost falling asleep on the stairs. At first it was a joke, but she really was tired, damn it. When they finally got up to the top, Claire was shivering. The morning was a little gray and a little windy to be taking pictures. Her hair gradually fell from the knot, Owen’s dress shirt was getting wrinkled, and they could hardly keep their eyes opening in the face of the wind. The forecast showed almost nonstop rain once noon rolled around.  So between the weather and Owen’s near inability to pose naturally for pictures, Claire wasn’t convinced they were going to get a good shot.

“Seriously?” Karen barked at him, “You’re standing next to my sister like there’s a stick up your ass!”

“Not my fault,” he insisted, “Navy.”

Despite the odds, Karen snapped some good candids when they weren’t paying attention, crowed her victory, and then promptly refused to show them the result. “Nope, I’ll get some prints made up. Happy wedding day!” Claire was not amused. They argued about it all the way to the diner down the street and through most of the meal. Owen was just so happy to get the tie off and that they’d actually gone and got _married_ that he didn’t even care what the pictures looked like. He just threw an arm over the back over Claire’s chair and drank his coffee, completely relaxed while the sisters duked it out.

Eventually Karen excused herself to the restroom, leaving the newlyweds. Owen seemed to be off in his own little world when Claire turned to him, loving how content he looked. She asked him what he was thinking about.

“Claire,” he said, “we just got married.” He whispered the last part, and Claire graced him with that wide closed mouth smile he loved. The twinkle in her big green eyes danced happily as she watched him. He knew she was feeling ridiculous about how excited she was, but was thrilled that she wasn’t trying hard to hide it. At least, not from him.

Her nose wrinkled up, giggling silently, “I know. It’s weird, right?” She sat back, leaning into him, “A good weird, though. A weird I like.”

“Well good because you’re stuck with me.” She kissed his cheek. “It would take so much work to break in another woman.” That got him pinched. 

He grabbed the offending hand, “You have got to stop doing that,” he laughed. She stuck her tongue out at him.

“Never. You deserve it.” Owen used her hand to tug her in for a kiss, soft presses of lips to hers making her sigh just a little.  She had a hand on his opposite thigh, and her other arm was pressed between them when he curled the arm that had previously been across the back of her chair around her upper torso. His other hand was chucked under her chin to tilt her face up. She’d never get sick of the fact that he kissed her like they had nowhere to be. He made it loud and clear that everything else came second to her, that everything else could wait. It was something she felt she was still getting used to. In her previous relationships, there was always something else to focus on, something that needed to be done or out of the way. Work waited for no one. He’d taught her to slow down. Well, he was trying to teach her, at any rate.

“ _God_ guys!” Karen shrieked when she came back to the table, “save it for the honeymoon!” They pulled apart, somewhat dazed, remembering that they were in public. And adults. Claire was blushing again, so she cleared her throat with a mumbled apology, and tried to play it off by drinking water. “What are you doing for a honeymoon, anyway?” And then she spit it out, coughing. Owen just patted her back with a small smirk on his face. Karen was cursing her sister for being such a weirdo, “It can’t be _that_ bad…It’s not something _weird_ , is it?” Claire was just trying to get her breath back. The question itself wasn’t unexpected. Several people had asked, and she’d just responded that she wasn’t sure yet. But Claire had never really been capable of lying to Karen, at least, not straight to her face.

The subject had come up the night they got engaged. Since Claire had taken an hour to set the whole thing up, it was natural for there to be some discussion. Her thought was that they didn’t technically need a honeymoon, especially since they were absolutely not going anywhere with “Island” in the name or anywhere tropical. Besides, neither of them wanted to take a whole lot of time off work or spend money on some gross B&B in the back ass of nowhere. So, for about a day, Claire was convinced that they weren’t going on a honeymoon or anything of the like. That is, until Owen came up to her in the study with a glint in his eyes. They had _very_ different ideas about what a honeymoon for them could look like. Very, very different. Claire figured they could do a weekend at some spa resort, something nearby or out of the way, whichever worked best. But Owen wanted a staycation. He had _plans_. Plans that would be better suited for the privacy of their large house. He explained them to her in great detail that night, and sitting across her sister, Claire thought she was going to die just from thinking about it.  

“Oh _god_ ,” Karen whined, “it _is_ something weird. For fuck’s sake, Claire, work on your damn poker face!” That’s when Claire started giggling so much she was snorting. Her sides hurt so badly and she was mortified, so she was covering her face with her hands. She and Owen hadn’t talked about the honeymoon since that first night, and Claire hadn’t thought much about it. So when Karen brought it up, Claire lost it. “Seriously, what are you going to do when Mrs. Grady asks you about it?” She couldn’t handle it, she brought a hand down to the table to steady herself.

“I’m sorry, Karen,” she snorted, “I just…I need a second.”

“We’re just going to take a few extra days at home,” Owen said patting Claire’s back still. Claire put a hand through her hair, pushing it out of her face. She probably looked like a mess, and for the first time in a while she just didn’t give a shit. Sitting up, she leaned back into Owen’s side while he prattled on about some plans they had. He wanted to build a bar out in the back, make some storage for a keg-orator so that they could put something on tap for when they had people over. There was an art show that Claire had been talking about going to for some time, so they were going to check that out. When Claire finally got her breath back, she chimed in.

“Honestly, just not all that much.”

Karen looked between the two. Their eyes were focused on her, faces, passive. They looked the picture of innocence. “Bullshit,” she said quietly. Owen looked away, dragging a hand down his mouth to hide a smile and Claire hid hers in her water glass, taking another deep drink and looking the other way. Karen giggled to herself, she didn’t even want to know.

After breakfast, Owen had to go back to the zoo for a short shift. Claire didn’t like it, but it was his last day for the next week and had things to take care of before he left things in his colleagues’ capable hands. Claire was getting the house ready for their guests and the party the next day. She had the guest rooms made up for Barry and Owen’s parents, pulled out extra towels and toiletries. She made sure the kitchen was stocked with snacks and plenty of drinks in case someone got a craving. A TV guide was set out, some books and magazines for perusal. Cleaning was a moot point, it was more like casually picking up. Owen might have been a bit of slob, but she was _not_. Everything had place, everything could be cleaned. Clicker training was absolutely happening on the sly. Well, not a clicker, per se, more like _boob_ training. Living together was complicated, she coped. The only problem was that Owen had caught onto what she was doing a long time ago. Then he’d started leaving messes on purpose so he could clean and get her shirt off. She figured that out after the second time it happened. Now he didn’t know that she knew he knew what she was doing. She gave him a week before he put it together. As she walked back into the master bedroom, tidying up Owen’s clothes and shoes as she went, Claire thought that it wasn’t very often that she was alone in the house. They worked similar hours during the week and the caretakers rotated weekends, so they never worked two weekends in a row given that nobody took off. And there were some nights when he was on call, just in case something happened with one of the animals. But she worked overtime, sometimes going in on the weekends when he did. So alone time in the house was rare.

But being there with just the echoes of Owen’s presence, sometimes with the anticipation of his coming home, was quickly one of Claire’s favorite things. She was able to explore her own nest, and move about in it differently. She could see and feel the traces of him everywhere she went, like he’d never gone. It made her feel closer to him; it made her feel like they were integral parts of each other’s lives. So much so that their lives were becoming indistinguishable from one another. A friend from work had been congratulating her on the engagement, but admitted she was confused, “I just don’t ever think of you as _separate_. I guess I thought you were already married. Claire and Owen. Owen and Claire. You’re just one thing in my mind.” Was that a little scary and intimidating? Yes, yes it was. Claire didn’t want to be dependent on anyone. She wanted to keep herself, her identity, her freedom just as much as anyone.

Which is exactly why the Surname Change Issue came up fast and furious. Now, Claire assumed that normal people had arguments when the woman didn’t want to change her name or when she wanted to hyphenate it. She’d never thought she would go through with changing her name; professionally it was a large factor in her connections. Her name _meant_ something to certain people in certain circles. The bigger question had been whether or not she’d ever actually get married. Again, she assumed she wouldn’t. Owen had been the one to bring it up. As she understood it, among normal people, the man usually brought it up. So far so good, but normal people weren’t trying to marry Owen Grady.

“You’re not going to change your last name are you?” he asked out of the blue when she was reading in bed two nights before. His tone sounded genuinely curious, not probing or bitter about it. There was nothing in his voice to suggest that the conversation required her full attention, so she mostly focused on the page in front of her. Why the flipping hell did this guy write such long sentences? It was like juggling three email threads about the same topic: next to fucking impossible.

“I don’t think so, why? Would that bother you?”

He flopped on the bed, rolling onto his side and propped his head up with his hand. “I dunno. I guess I hadn’t thought about it.”

“I wouldn’t mind it except it’s like changing a brand name. Like Kim Kardashian changing her name to Kim West. Makes her lesser. Loses something.”

“Who the hell is Kim Kardashian?”

Claire patted his chest. “It’s better that you don’t know.” He’d mumbled out a whatever and rolled onto his back to stare at the ceiling for a while. She should have known something was brewing in that diabolical brain of his.

“But if we had kids, wouldn’t their teachers and shit think we’re divorced or something? Cause they’d have to have one of our names, right? That could get confusing.”

“I think people would get over it.”

“Yeah, but we’d have to explain it and then people would think you were some kind of asshole…”

That was when she put her book down, not at all please with the direction of the conversation, “Do _you_ want me to change my name?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Owen, if you have an issue with it, just say so. We don’t have to bring our hypothetical children into every conversation to avoid conflict. Seriously.” Owen talked about these children a lot. Every time they discussed something remotely future-related, children were factored into whatever decision they made. Sometimes it was endearing, sometimes she wanted to rip his face off. They didn’t have to do _everything_ for the children _right now_.

“But that _is_ the main issue here, Claire. _That’s_ what I’m talking about. Future children’s names. That’s the only obstacle here.”

“So what’s your solution, then?”

He shrugged and rolled back over to face her, “I could change mine.”

“What?”

“People do it all the time and nobody ever knows different.”

“Wouldn’t that be emasculating or whatever people like to say it is?”

He rolled at his eyes. “ _What-ever_. It’s not like anything about our lives has ever been conventional. Why start now?”

“You want to be Owen Dearing? For the kids.”

“For the kids,” he agreed.

“You’re not going to change your mind when people start giving you shit at work?”

“When was the last time I let them give me shit over there, hm? No, I’m not going to change my mind. Yes, I want to be Mr. Dearing. And no I don’t give two cents of a fuck what anyone has to say about it.”

Claire tossed her book over the side of the bed, it landed with a thud on the floor, and leaned over to kiss him, his face in her hands, her leg tossed over his, “You are the best,” she pressed kisses on his face, “and strangest man,” she moved to his neck, laving it with attention at the pulse point, “I’ve ever known.”

So that was why her marriage certificate read Mr. and Mrs. Owen Dearing. It was such a huge little thing, such a small, insignificant part of their lives, but it spoke volumes. It filled up the empty spaces of their relationship, put music to the lyrics of their story together. It was a brave thing for him to do, such an incredible little thing. People would comment. At least, people who knew them well would comment. Men and women alike would say he was whipped, insult his masculinity, and maybe worse. People were assholes. But Owen didn’t even second guess himself because it was better for her and for their nonexistent children. Good lord, what saint had she saved in a former life?  
 

“Claire?” she heard from down the hall. Owen was home earlier than she’d expected him. Their guests would be there in three hours, and everything was ready for them. Claire looked over to her closet with a smirk.

“Bedroom!” she called out as she slipped out of her sundress and disappeared into the closet. There was maybe only one thing that Owen liked better than a naked Claire, and that was Claire in lingerie. He’d been astounded by just how much she owned before they got together. He didn’t understand why a single woman needed that much lingerie. Which prompted an eye roll and a head tilt that had him spluttering through a conversation about how many partners each of them had had. Hers was higher. “You were a straight guy in the Navy for 8 years, not a big surprise.” The truth was that Claire liked pretty things. She’d spent money buying herself flowers, jewelry, shoes, pieces of art, and really just about anything that caught her eye. Lingerie fell in that category and she’d accumulated quite the collection. Even after two or three years, Owen probably hadn’t seen all of it. Every few weeks or so, she found herself online or in some boutique picking things out. It was an old habit, one that Owen happily encouraged, but he tended to complain that he was never allowed to go with. She would always ask how that would be fun for her. Owen’s face darkened the first few times she’d said that, even though it was mostly a joke. “Yeah,” he’d growl out, “and that’s exactly why I want to punch the guys you’ve been with in the face.” Claire didn’t understand his reaction, but did her best to pacify him (while simultaneously preventing him from distracting her during every shopping excursion). What he didn’t know is that she’d found something a few weeks back, before they decided to get married, and it seemed like the perfect opportunity to show him.

The bra-let and matching underwear were a mauve taupe lace, the same mauve color of the tank top she’d worn that fatal day on the island. She’d been out shopping with Karen when she noticed the matching set. The color had sparked a memory in her mind’s eye of being close to Owen, of being terrified when he was out of her sight, and the flood of relief when she had him close again. The pale color barely stood out against her ivory skin, but it lit up her hair and set off her eyes. It was perfect. She examined herself in the tall mirror she’d put in the closet, her eyes zeroing in those places that needed work. The pouch of her belly, the thickness of her thighs, the way she rounded out above her hips. Since moving to Madison, she’d regained some of her old weight and filled out again. Her diet was still pretty strict and she maintained a workout regimen designed to keep her svelte and toned. But it didn’t hold up much against the pounds of cheese curds Owen kept in the house.

 Those fleeting flaws were covered up by Owen’s hands as he slid up behind her and put his arms around her. There wasn’t even a greeting. He nuzzled into the curve of her neck, pressing kisses to the warm skin there. Claire couldn’t help but lean into his touch and let her hands rest against his. Lord, sometimes this was all she ever wanted. She rested her body against the solidity of his, and tilted her head to give him more access. “You’re back early,” she said. Owen hummed. “I didn’t think I’d see you until dinner.”  His response was to nip her on the ear. “Your parents will be here soon.”

“Shut _up_ , Claire,” he muttered against the skin near jawline. Claire turned in his arms, her own going up to wind around his neck. She pressed up against him and kissed the side of his chin. Owen was smirking down at her, far too cat got the canary for her liking, with that look in his eye that set her blood to thrumming.

“Now is that any way to talk to your wife?”

Owen chuckled silently, “You’re right,” he bent to cup her thighs and hauled her off her feet, “Allow me to apologize.” Claire giggled as he carried her over to the bed and lowered down slowly along the length of him until she was lying on her back, knees still bracketing his hips. She teased at the button on his pants with her foot while he pulled his shirt off. He grimaced and grabbed her foot to press a kiss to her ankle before getting rid of the pants as well. Leaning over, he finally kissed her. Their lips met messily, the contact amping up the tension between them. She pushed herself up the bed and he crawled over her on all fours, keeping that point of contact between them. But he didn’t wait for her to settle, his lips went down to her neck, outlining the ridges there.  He kept moving down her body, finding his favorite spots. Claire waited patiently and ran a hand through his hair. She watched him in his effort to worship her body, something he did fairly often. If she wasn’t known to repay the favor back in spades, she’d say she was spoiled. Because he did spoil her with this kind of affection. There were days when he was so fixated on what he was doing that they never got around the sex part. They never talked about it, and she never asked why he felt the need to be so attentive.  Deftly he removed the lingerie, pressing wet kisses to the places that had been covered, taking her nipple into his mouth and teasing it with lips and teeth.

“Owen,” she groaned out, “please just…” her voice caught in her throat when she felt his fingers slip between her folds, he dragged his blunt nails over her wet skin that swelled with every pass. She felt that sharp pressure at the small of her back, her need vaulting higher and higher. Owen got rid of his boxers, leaving no barriers between them and sank down to press himself against. Claire nearly sighed at the warm weight of him on top of her. She loved being chest to chest with him, her face buried in the crook of his neck. He was licking at her neck, blowing gently, and nipping the skin with his teeth. Claire wasn’t satisfied with the pace. “Owen _please_!” she gasped out.

Pulling back to make eye contact, he smiled, “Yes, ma’am.” Owen pulled her leg over his shoulder, and positioned himself. For a moment, she could have sworn he was going to keep teasing her. It was usually one of his favorite pastimes. Not today, apparently. He shoved into her fast and hard, making her cry out. There was something to be said about a good penis. And Claire _loved_ Owen’s. Women she knew would talk all the time about how difficult it was to find a man with a good personality and a good penis. Claire hit the jackpot. Owen barely gave her a moment to adjust before he was moving, thrusting into her and pulling out halfway at an angle, levering his girth to stretch her. He bent over, abruptly changing the angle and making her cry out for him, before he covered her mouth with his and drank down her gasps. Claire rolled her hips up to meet him, clenched her muscles around him to feel him more deeply, and clawed into his shoulders when it was too much. It was minutes before she was coming, her muscles felt weightless but her skin was on fire, and she clenched up her feet to make it last. Her hands almost blindly reach out for his face to pull him to her for a sound kiss, something she tended to do after every orgasm. Owen took her sudden complacency as a good sign, and pulled her up onto his lap as he sat back on his ankles, continuing to thrust up into her. She clung to his neck and shoulders, rolling her hips down to meet him, even as she kissed his face and neck. His thrusts grew harder but slowed, each one a drive to get deeper, to mark her. Owen liked to draw out his own orgasms, to make her cum again with him. So even though she was stretched and over sensitized, he managed to draw out a quick and rough orgasm as he emptied himself into her. They nuzzled at each other’s necks and cheeks as they recovered. It was hot and sweaty and Owen smelled vaguely swampy from work, but she loved it because it was _them_ in the middle of their sloppy, wonderful life. Sometimes with him it was so good it hurt and she could scream the house down. With a last press of her lips to his cheek, she clambered off of him and settled onto the mattress. He followed to lower himself on her, lazily kissing her lips and letting her twine herself around him.

“God I fucking love you,” he moaned out.

“Good, Mr. Dearing,” They laughed and kissed again, happy to ride their bliss out for as long as possible. Soon, their house would be invaded with loved ones and questions. For the moment, they wanted a bubble.

But their bubble wasn’t long for this world. Soon there was a knock at the door and Karen was filing the boys in. The Gradys weren’t far behind, which meant Owen quickly got into an argument with his father about bringing in the luggage. It simmered out just as quickly when they noticed a daunting- looking Claire glaring at them from the front door. There was a brief, and very quiet, exchange of words as Derek handed over one of the bags to Owen’s care. Claire kept a steady eye even as they passed through the entryway, Derek grumbling a gruff greeting of “Claire,” as he passed. She returned the clipped acknowledgement of her presence with a short, “Derek.” Barry was the last to arrive by cab. He burst through the front door, gifts in hand for Zach and Gray and tight hugs for his friends. Their reservation wasn’t for another hour or so, so Claire had everyone gathered in the living room for appetizers. She had pre-arranged the menu with the restaurant, so their food would be ready for them shortly after they arrived, no need for waiting, she informed them from the arm of Owen’s chair.

“Sounds like our first date…” Owen mumbled jokingly. Unfortunately for him, both Claire his mother heard him so he got pinched and swatted upside the head. “ _Damn_ guys!” he groused, not sure which spot to rub first. Since Barry was the odd man out and the main event of the evening, he was goaded into updating the group on his life and work. He was still in D.C., working with the big cats at the Smithsonian. It was a decent job, and it paid well, but there was a lot of travel involved. “We have to evaluate animals at other parks, go overseas to help with the transfer. There are months when I’m not home for two weeks put together. But I love it, and I love me them cats.” Naturally, Gray had a million questions, most of which he’d written down in the days previous after he was informed that Barry would be there. While Owen had done some work with big cats, they were mostly tigers and it was mostly for Hollywood. Hollywood always wanted a tiger. Barry, however, was doing conservation work with cheetahs, fishing cats, clouded leopards, and lions. He said there was even some discussion of him doing work with the Komodo dragon and potentially the gorillas. Gray had cycled through the Smithsonian website at least a dozen times and was asking him about every exhibit in the park. With a laugh of appreciation at his energy, Barry promised to get ahold of some of the educational materials and send them to him. Claire was positive that if the boy smiled any harder, his face was going to split. He was much taller than he’d been on the island, a good six inches taller since he’d hit puberty. The floppy hair was a more manageable brand of floppy, but his eyes were still wide with his insatiable curiosity. Whenever Claire felt particularly fond of her younger nephew, she’d get a little breathless thinking about what could have happened on the island. She’d see the terror that had been in his eyes instead of the giddiness.  It was August 13 th, they were in Madison Wisconsin. Jurassic World had closed three years before. She was in her own home, sitting by Owen. Who she’d married. It was August 13th…

“Claire?” Owen whispered from next to her. Noticing that she’d gone a little stiff watching Gray babble, she forcibly relaxed her muscles and smiled down at her husband, letting him know she was okay. They’d discovered that she was more prone to flashbacks than nightmares. They were doubtful it would ever change. All the doctors said the same thing: everyone was different, and everyone had different kinds of triggers. They figured, as long as she wasn’t running from invisible dinosaurs or holding up convenient stores, then she was fine and functional. Let the doctors worry about the bigger fish with military training. Claire felt Owen relax again underneath her, his hand tightening on her hip. He told her once that he didn’t like her going there without him, didn’t like the idea of her on Isla Nublar alone. It sounded silly, but she didn’t disagree. That hellscape was dark, deep, and thick with places to get lost in. Claire didn’t want to be alone there either.

They carpooled over to dinner. Barry went with Karen and the boys, Derek and Patti with Claire and Owen. Claire drove with Patti next to her in the passenger seat, leaving their husbands in the back. They chatted amicably, mostly about a book Claire had picked up and a reality show Patti was watching. They’d discovered early on that they were on opposite ends of the entertainment spectrum; Claire liked highbrow literature and Patti was addicted to vulgar reality TV. But, each of them was interested in taking up the other, Patti wanted to dig through the classics and Claire had always felt that she was behind in her pop culture references. So they swapped stories and information on what the other would like. Claire was trying to sell her on _Jane Eyre_ and Patti was convinced Claire would like _The Bachelorette_.

“I’ll watch just about anything,” Claire admitted, “as long as it’s not _Survivor_.” That had not gone so well. Claire had to be more careful about what Owen was watching after that incident. He just got way too fired up about the logistics of the show: “But people _live_ there, on that island. That these people are trying to survive. That makes zero sense.” Claire attempted to argue that it could possibly be more about Game Theory than surviving, but Owen wasn’t having it. “Bass. Ackwards.”

Thankfully the drive to the restaurant wasn’t too long. Avery’s was a small, family run French brasserie that Claire had invested a lump of money into. She’d met the head chef, Alana Avery at a charity event not too long after they had closed on the house and it blossomed into a mutually beneficial friendship. Alana got the start-up money for her own place and Claire got a table whenever she wanted. Claire insisted on paying, but Alana cut her price to 50% plus tips. It was a quaint little place, somewhat off the beaten path of Madison, a hole in the wall type of restaurant that served local food and alcohol. Alana, like Claire, had worked in fast-paced, cutthroat kitchens her whole career. Admittedly, nothing had tried to _eat her_ , but she had quickly burned out and looked for alternatives.

“My first love,” she told their party as she poured out the wine, “was French food. So I thought, ah! I can make a go of it. But where in the world is there no French food? _Madison_. I came here once to visit a boyfriend studying at the university and I _hated_ it. I have always believed that if you don’t like something, you should fix it. So I did.” She and two waitresses served up their food, which Claire had judiciously selected: the Soupe à L’oignon, Tartiflette, and the Coq au Vin. Each dish was served with its own flight of wine. There was a fresh summer salad, and bread. For dessert they were served up a family-sized crème brulée and some fancy cream puffs, which Gray particularly enjoyed stuffing into his mouth. Conversation was light for the most part, mostly centered on funny stories from Patti and Barry about Owen, and from Karen about Claire. Apparently, the both of them had been daredevil children. Owen would bring home snakes or scorpions, depending on where they were living at the time. He fed the stray dogs and cats if they were near the city. Once he decided that he was going to feed a coyote and had to be taken to the ER for a rabies shot when it bit him. Claire, on the other hand, didn’t like to be called a chicken. Karen laughed that she would go all “Marty McFly” and accept whatever stupid dare the neighbor kids could come up with. She’d spent most of her summers in the ER or at home in a cast. “One time, ma had to call the fire department to come get her out of a tree because a branch snapped and she got stuck at the top,” Karen snickered. “The best part was that the boy who dared her to climb it, Andy, broke his arm when the branch fell on him.” Claire shook her head ruefully at the memory, thinking that he’d deserved it. It had been _raining_ that day, and there was no way that tree was sturdy enough to hold her. She’d been up there for 3 hours before the fire department showed up. It landed her in bed with a cold for a week. “Little shit,” she muttered. Owen snorted.

The newlyweds insisted that no one give speeches or toasts of any kind. They could do that tomorrow at the party. Secretly, they were still trying to enjoy the bubble. Because in spite of himself and his father’s presence, Owen was actually enjoying reminiscing for once, and Claire was ecstatic about it. Alas, it wasn’t meant to be. In the three hours since his arrival, Barry had learned just about everything there was to know about Gray. The boy talked a lot. Naturally, he was curious about the older and much quieter brother.

“So Zach, have any idea what you’ll do when you graduate next summer?”

Zach responded casually that his friend’s uncle owned a garage on the north side, and that he’d gotten a license to work on cars. He was particularly interested in working on the luxury sports cars, but had no interest in working for a dealership. Zach talked for a little bit about his shop classes and a few online courses he could take, but outside working at the garage, he didn’t expound on his plans.

“So no college?” Claire asked somewhat bewildered. Karen was staring down at her plate, her face pinched, but otherwise not commenting. Zach looked like he was going to break into a sweat. Or vomit. Or both.

“I thought about it, yeah, but it’s a lot of money for stuff I already know about. You know? I could work my way from the ground up no problem and with no debt.” It made sense. Money had been the one thing Karen and Scott fought about the most. He was always looking to turn a profit, and Karen just wanted to keep her family together. So maybe Gray was too young to understand that kind of thing, but Zach wasn’t. Claire was sure that everything that had happened with Jurassic World hadn’t exactly improved his opinion. She couldn’t blame him. The lengths people were willing to go to for a little extra money was appalling. Instead of being disgusted by it, Claire had decided to capitalize on it. That’s when Derek decided to chime in.

“You ever think about the army, boy?”

Claire winced. Patti put a hand to her temple. Karen started coughing and had to drink a whole glass of water to get her voice back, but Owen threw his napkin down on the table, “Jesus _Christ,_ Dad.”  

Zach was about to respond when Derek cut him off, “What? Just because the army wasn’t good enough for you, doesn’t mean the same for him!”

“Oh for--! It’s not like Navy is the polar opposite of Army.”

Derek jabbed a finger down at the table, “We had a legacy. But that’s not the point. It’d be good for a young ‘un like him. Toughen him up.”

“You don’t have to be military and see combat to _toughen up_ ,” Owen snarled back.

“Is that you or your husband talking?”

 That comment caused uproar, mostly from the women because Barry was confused and Owen had a tight fist in front of his mouth as he stared down his old man. Karen was _not_ pleased with his tone and attitude, and he was already on her shit list. “You’re going to sit there and insult my brother-in-law after telling my son he should join the army? What kind of backwater _moron_ are you?” Patti was throwing scathing remarks in her husband’s direction who was throwing them right back. They were drawing far too much attention, Alana even poked her head out from the kitchen until she got confirmation from Claire that they were all good.

“That’s _enough_!” Claire shouted over the noise. They all clamped up at her imperious tone, but Owen didn’t stop his glaring. “No one gives a damn what you think, Derek. So be _quiet_!” She slumped back into her seat with a rough sigh, her hand immediately going to Owen’s thigh. It was bouncing as it usually did when he was pissed and couldn’t punch somebody. It was silent at their table for a moment while the adults remembered that they were actually adults and as color came back in to Gray’s cheeks. He still didn’t handle noise very well since his little ears had gotten the full blast of the I-rex’s roar. Zach was beet red and wide eyed. Claire pitied the kid, she really did. He didn’t know what kind of landmine he’d just stepped right into, and it had absolutely nothing to do with him.

“Zach…” she started to ask if he was okay, but he looked up at her with this pathetic droop to his features that she stopped herself.

“No offense, Mr. Grady,” Zach said slowly, “but I’ve seen more than enough people die for one lifetime.” He stood up from the table, looking unsteady. “Excuse me,” and he walked out the front door of the restaurant. His mother called after him and started up to follow but Claire stopped her, saying that she would get him. Vaguely, she heard Patti hiss something at Derek about opening his fat mouth. Owen reached out to her as she passed, and she squeezed his hand quickly before walking out onto the sidewalk.

Zach was posted up against the brick wall, eyes closed rubbing the crown of his head against it just so, like he could rub away whatever memory was chasing him. He had a cigarette between his lips, but no lighter in sight. Claire approached him slowly, her heels clacking against the concrete, arms folded up.

“It’s cool Aunt Claire, I’m good,” he reassured her without opening his eyes. Zach could be so like his father sometimes that Claire forgot how much _they_ were alike. She came to stand in front of him and plucked the unlit cigarette from his lips. His steely eyes flashed open and she held the offensive object up in front of his face.

“Where’d you get this?”

“Mom.”

“You steal cigarettes from your mother? I thought she quit,” Claire confessed, leaning up against the wall right next to him. He was a few inches taller than her now. Scott’s genes probably.

“ _She_ smokes when she thinks we aren’t looking. So I throw them out when she’s not looking. Forgot about that one.”

“So you don’t smoke, right?”

“No.”

Claire deflated, “Good, I was not looking forward to that conversation.” Zach laughed a little, and it boosted Claire’s confidence. When she’d come out after him, she didn’t really have a plan. She didn’t really understand why he was upset. “So…” He swiveled his head to look at her, “You know Owen’s dad is a dick, right?”

“Yes, I do.”

She nodded, trying to be casual, “Yeah, good.”

Some benevolent god must have smiled down and granted mercy on her soul because Zach ended the awkward moment without prompting. “Aunt Claire, why did you marry Owen?” Her mouth gaped like some moronic fish’s in the face of that question. Everyone _assumed_ they were married, or that they would get married. No one had asked her why. Did she even know?  He must have seen her struggling. “I mean, I know you guys love each other and everything. But…that’s what Mom and Dad said. Then they stopped. It seems so complicated, getting married. And you and Owen were already happy right? Why change things?”

“Those are a lot of good questions…” she stalled. He waited. That was something she loved about Zach; he didn’t try to fill up silences like his mother and brother.  “I think that what happened with your mom and dad is hard to explain, you know? They got married young and gave up a lot to take care of you guys. Which, they did an awesome job of doing, by the way. And relationships are just hard. There’s no real way to predict what’s going to happen or what will work and what won’t. Everybody’s got their own ideas and opinions. Nobody ever gets it right, at least, not that I’ve ever seen. But I know that right here, right now, today, that Owen and I are good and solid and that we make each other happy. That’s all we could ask for.”

They were quiet for a little while, arms folded. Zach kept toeing the ground, fixated on his shoes. Claire couldn’t even imagine how much was going through that brain of his. Being 18, it wasn’t the easiest thing in the world. There’s so much ahead of you, and hardly enough behind you to make good decisions. All you could do was close your eyes and keep moving forward. Cross your fingers, knock on wood, and leap from the ledge. Anymore, there was so much at stake for kids his age. Every single decision impacted a thousand decisions down the line. No, it wasn’t easy.

“Mom _did_ quit smoking,” he informed her softly. He inhaled deeply and let it out in a rush. “But then dad left. And since he’s not even around much, I think she spends so much time trying to take care of us that she forgets to take care of herself.”

Claire shrugged, “I suppose so, it happens sometimes.”

“If her cigarettes are gone, then maybe she’ll think that she’s going overboard and keep cutting back.”

“Sneaky.”

“Yeah. And if I’m not around, then she goes right back into it, you know?” He played with the edges of his shirt, “Someone’s gotta be there for Gray. A man…a man who knows what he’s been through, who knows how to take care of him.”

“Sure,” Claire agreed.

“I’m not afraid of a small life. I never wanted to go to college. Never wanted to leave Madison. Why leave when I could stay?”

It dawned on her that there were dots to connect here. No college. No army. Scott leaving. A garage on the north side of town. Gray. Claire turned abruptly to hug him, pressing a couple of loud kisses to his cheek, and rocking him. “You’re such a good kid, Zach,” she told him. She pulled back and cupped his face in her cheeks, “A good _man_ , do you understand me?” He nodded quickly and ducked back in to hug her. “And Gray such a lucky kid to have you for a brother,” she kissed his temple. “You know you can come to us whenever, with anything for anything. Tell me you know that.”

“Yeah,” he croaked out, “I know.”

“Good,” she snaked an arm around his shoulders and started to lead him back in the restaurant. “Let’s go finish eating.” They rejoined their party with a few glances but no questions. Claire noticed the faint hint of an argument playing out between father and son, but the moment Owen’s attention was on her, it was forgotten. He stood to seat and help her push her chair back in, then took his place beside her without another glance in his father’s direction. But Claire did. She swept her eyes in Derek’s direction and he met her gaze for a moment before looking down at his glass. Claire pressed her lips together, satisfied. She thought about what she’d told the board room on Isla Nublar during clean up. That Owen trained raptors, not dogs.

_Watch your six. Raptor’s got a new alpha._


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Honeymoon.

The party went off without a hitch, everyone got home all right, and then Owen and Claire were once again left to their bubble for a while. Owen turned off their phones and hid them. Claire decided not to remind him that she could get work emails on her tablet, if only so she had access to her e-reader when he decided he was actually going to start on his projects. Until that time, they were holed up in their bedroom. He wasn’t kidding when he said he had _plans_ for their time off. She was warned that she had better not like any clothes that she put on because they were going to get ripped. So for the first couple of days they were naked morning, noon, and night. They ate leftovers from the party and take out from Alana’s. If they weren’t eating or sleeping, then Owen was going through his list. Now, this was an actual physical list with his scribbled handwriting on some notebook paper. It was, in a word, extensive. Some things were scratched off, which made Claire smirk a little from reminiscing. But the paper itself was old, which meant he’d been thinking these things up for a while without mentioning it. Endearing and annoying in one shiny package. Owen let her examine it for all of five seconds before he plucked it from her hands. When she protested due to curiosity, he laughed and shook his head “no” as he loomed over her where she was lounging on their bed. He bent to kiss her, “Nope, my week, my rules.” He drew the next kiss out longer, lingering and unhurried. Claire wanted to protest that it was _their_ week, but then his hands were on her and she forgot why she was complaining in the first place. And that set the tone for the next 48 hours, they were either recovering or finding a good reason to need recovery time. It was both a blessing and a curse that Owen was so mission-oriented. Nothing in the house was safe from the list; not the kitchen or the dining table, the living room floor or the glass door that led to the backyard, they spent _a lot_ of time in the master bathroom, mostly the tub, and he even sweet-talked her into going outside and into the garage. Perhaps the most memorable was when Owen fucked her over his bike. Every single time they came together, he was relentless and maybe a little too enthusiastic which only made Claire feel guilty for putting off the marriage thing for so long. She was at a loss to explain his behavior. Even before their engagement, their sex life was _stellar_. No ifs, ands, or buts about it. Zero complaints, rave reviews, just completely mind blowing and pass out good. At one point, Karen was itching to live vicariously through her younger sister’s recounting, but eventually she just got annoyed hearing about it. “Baby sister, I love you, but _shut up_.” So Claire figured there was some alternative explanation for his plans. And she had some ideas, but she didn’t think she’d like the answer.

The morning of their third day at home, Owen woke her up early with an eager mouth and clever hands. When Claire was fully awake and responsive, he slid in and proceeded to pound into her fast and hard like he hadn’t pawed at her five hours ago. Every inch of her body protested as she strained against him. They were both bruised and marked up, and far too oversensitive to keep going at it at the pace they’d set. Claire didn’t care, she loved it, she was craving it. Which was insane, but she was right in the throes of ovulation and far too keyed up to stop. Owen finished first, which wasn’t surprising considering their day before, so he finished her off by rolling them so she was on top and over his mouth. Claire slapped a hand to the wall and used the other to grip their headboard. Cause _damn_ , he was good at that. Her orgasm ripped through her quick and unbidden to the point that it almost hurt, making her let out dry gasps. When she could finally see straight, she swung her leg over and flopped onto the bed next to him, where he lay panting with his eyes closed.

“Stop doing that,” she muttered with the reserve air in her lungs.

He chuckled, “Stop saying my name in your sleep.”

“Can’t control that,” she responded on an exhale.

“Well neither can I.”

 She weakly backhanded his chest and he grunted. “We’ve gotta take a break. Seriously, I’m tapping out. I don’t think I’m going to be able to walk normal for a week.”

“Agreed,” and he held out a hand for her to shake.

“Besides, you told everyone you were going to build a bar, so you should probably get on that.”

“You mean _we_ because you’re going to help.”

“ _I_ wasn’t the one who told everyone we knew some nonsense reason we weren’t going away for a honeymoon.”

“Apologies for thinking that would be more appropriate than saying we were locking ourselves in to fuck our way,” he pulled her alongside him again, latching his lips onto her neck and throwing a leg over hers to keep her there, “around the house.” His favorite spot there was already marked and throbbing, but he moved softly enough that it never crossed the threshold from pleasurable into painful.

“Owen,” she moaned out, “I’m being serious.” Her tone didn’t match her intent, however, and she felt the soft vibration of his laugh against her throat which he’d somehow gained more access to as she pressed herself closer to him.

“So am I,” he answered lowly, tracing circular patterns with his tongue then nipping lightly with his teeth as his hands squeezed her curves. This was getting to the point of absurd. “But,” he pulled back with a smirk, “your wish is my command so…” Owen sat up on his knees looking like he was going to leave and she whined out a sound that was somewhere between pathetic and angry, that made him raise his brows mischievously.

“If you don’t get back here and finish what you started,” she snarled, “we’re going to have a problem.” Owen dove back into the bed and smugly started to tell her I told you so before she told him to shut the hell up and fuck her.

After that, he did admit that they needed to cool it. So they managed to get clothes on and make fresh food and watch the news to make sure the world didn’t collapse without them (it didn’t). Owen did actually intend to build the bar; he’d been amassing materials for the past couple of weeks and Claire really had no intention of helping him. Like she said, _his_ idea, _his_ big mouth, _his_ job. Her plan was to sit outside with a book and a drink and lounge around while he worked. In a bikini probably, because all was fair. What she didn’t expect was to be provided with reading material. When Owen went to the garage for his tool box, he came back out with a manila file probably 3 inches thick, stuffed with papers and packets that she hadn’t seen before. He casually dropped it in her lap as he walked by to his work area. She made a face at it, like it could set itself on fire at any given moment.

“What’s this?”

He shrugged, “Read.”

In the folder was a color coded, systematically organized stack of research on the Whys and Why Nots of having children. There was even a table of contents. Some of it was medical, scientific, and sociological studies which were evenly divided between yays and nays. He even had an article in there about how middle class Americans were destroying the planet with their procreating. There were articles written by young women, older mothers, and even some grandmothers. There were quotes from parenting books on both the benefits and drawbacks. There were charts and statistics on couples, pregnancies, miscarriages, and adoption. In fact, he had the information and contacts for a local, a national, and an international adoption agency, listing their demographics and success stories. He had a list of local schools, their ratings, tuition rates, and amenities. He’d plotted out how much childcare they’d need, how much it would cost them. There was a lengthy study done by some professor at Berkley on why women in their 30’s made better mothers. Some of it was funny, actually. A father from Texas made a listed invoice of everything his 3 children had destroyed from utero to 18. There was a buzzfeed article about the pure entertainment value of having kids around. There was a really graphic, but kind of hilarious, write up by a comedienne who interviewed an OBGYN about what pregnancy does to the woman’s body and sex life. Claire couldn’t stop herself from giggling at the images Owen had printed off one of those baby generator websites of what their kids could potentially look like. Especially since he did one of him with Estelle to make a creepy looking gator-human thing. But the best part was his own personal pros and cons list, which was stapled to a spreadsheet of their financials along with a letter of notification about a trust he’d set up for educational purposes. He accounted for everything down to the last dime, including tallying how many hours of sleep and the exact number of orgasms they would miss out on. That also made her laugh a little, who counts that shit?

Claire carefully read through everything in the file as he worked. She was perfectly aware that he watched her every once in a while, but she didn’t look over. She didn’t want to see his opinion on the subject written all over his face. Everything was so meticulously documented, laid out, and organized. Honestly, she couldn’t have put it together better than this. Everything she would be concerned about, he’d thought of. He’d even laid out what their finances would look like if they waited one, two, three, and even four years. Any questions she had, they were related to Owen, his thoughts, his motivations. How long had he been putting this together?

She put off asking until they sat down for dinner. Claire was a great cook, and loved to be in the kitchen. Her friendship with Alana had encouraged that. A few times a month, they got together at Avery’s kitchen for cooking lessons. Alana was a great teacher and extremely patient with Claire’s tendency to be controlling. They worked well together, and it resulted in a lot of great dinners at home. Tonight was Filet Mignon ala Bordelaise with a California cabernet sauvignon. And since Owen wasn’t allowed to be in the kitchen when she was cooking, also whipped up a salad and roasted some bread to go with it. Owen, attempting to be helpful after cleaning himself up, ran around getting the table set and putting candles out. He put on some music, a band that they both liked, miraculously. It was the Beatles, The White Album. When they finally sat down she could tell he was anxious. He couldn’t stop _talking_. Telling her the specifications for the bar, throwing out ideas for the next day, updates on the gators and how Tony was managing without him. That last part was amusing because Tony was bribing the other interns to go into the gator pits with him. Owen got a text from one of the other caretakers saying that they’d started a pool to see how long the kid would last and which limb he would lose. Finally, she had to put a hand out to cover his and stop.

“Owen, please, can we just talk about this?” It physically hurt to watch him deflate so much. But there it was. He’d gotten his hopes up, gone to such lengths, taken strides to account for everything that anything other than an enthusiastic and resounding yes would break him. She didn’t want to know that. Claire didn’t want to say yes to something this huge just because he wanted it. She wanted to _want_ it just as much as him. It was that rugged stubborn streak in her, that independent part of her that had planned out a life that she wanted, not the life that someone else decided on for her. Ever since she was a kid, she did exactly the opposite of what everyone wanted for her. But now she was married to this stupidly wonderful man who had taken her name and wanted her to have his baby.

“I wanted to give you enough information to make your own decision,” he said a little more sheepishly than she was used to hearing out of him. Which meant it was important.

“I definitely appreciate that.”

“I figured if I showed you that I’d put some extra thought into it, instead of just blurting it out, that you might think about it more.”

“And how did the pictures of what you and Estelle’s babies would look like factor in?”

“Well that was just fun.”

The tension broke as they laughed, giving Claire a little more assurance that he wasn’t going to freak out on her. “How long have you been putting that file together?” He told her that it had been going on for a little over a year. He’d thought about it himself, but was still unsure how he felt, so he put himself in Claire’s shoes. Claire would find every tiny bit of information she could sink her teeth into so she could mull it over. Admittedly, after a couple of months, he’d gotten a little obsessed and was reading blogs and books and forums about pregnancy, adoption, and parenting. He’d add a little bit of something as he came by it.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, “I guess I was thinking that if I put thought into it long term that it wouldn’t just be an idea anymore.” So then they’d gotten engaged, then married, and now here they were in the middle of their honeymoon three years into their relationship, and he was absolutely considering children. “I told you then that I would want kids if they were yours, and I still want that. But only if you do.”

“Okay.”

“Okay, what?”

“Okay, I will think about it.”

His mouth dropped open a little, “Wow, all right. I thought that was gonna be a much longer conversation.”

Claire kissed his stunned face, “You gave me a lot to think about, so I’ll think about it. I’d have to change my diet, get my IUD out, make some lifestyle changes…I just need some time.”

“I can do time.”

She smiled, “Good.” Claire watched as Owen took their dishes to the sink to wash them off and set them aside. Claire was against dish washers as a rule, so they would hand wash and air dry just about everything. And since Owen hated that she did most of the cooking, he tended to take over the clean-up. She blew out the candles and went to stand behind him at the sink. It was easy enough to curl into his back and rest her head between his shoulder blades. When he was finished washing, she felt his damp hands rest over hers.

“Claire?”

“Hmm?” she purred from the spot where she was nuzzling into his back. Lately she was feeling ridiculously affectionate toward him. Maybe it was all of the sex or the hormones or the marriage thing, but she just felt better being closer to him. Not that she was hearing any complaints. Owen was the Cuddle King, so she figured this was like heaven for him.

“You tired?”

“No.”

“Wanna watch something?”

She hummed, “You could put a game on mute.” Owen took her hands and did a dance-like spin out of her arms. Without missing a beat, she stepped up onto his feet and wrapped her arms around his neck, tucking her head under his chin.

“You’re really doing this, huh?”

“Tired.”

He barked out a laugh, “You just said you weren’t!” With a practiced ease that came with dealing with Claire and her quirks, he walked them over to the couch and sprawled out with her on top of him. She settled her lower half between his legs and hooked her arms under his shoulder so she could use his chest like a pillow. He had a hand in her hair and another searching for the remote.

“I’m not sleep-tired,” she protested lightly, “I’m I-don’t-want-to-move tired. We had sex like…seven times in a 24 hour period.”

“Eight,” he corrected. She pinched him as he flipped through the channels to find the week day football game between two teams she didn’t recognize. He muted the volume, tossed the remote, and wrapped his arms around her, one hand stroking her back. Claire had the frivolous desire for everything to stay exactly as it was in that moment. And it was for that reason the question of having children weighed heavily on her. A baby changes everything. A baby stops everything. Would it be a new adventure? Yes. Would it be wonderful? Yes. But what they had right there and then was pretty wonderful too.

“Owen?” He hummed. “I think we should wait a couple years on a baby.” Claire could sense his slight disappointment. He was an extrovert at heart, and it was difficult for him to suppress any emotion.

“Yeah?”

“I mean, a kid would change everything and we’ve barely had time together without dinosaurs and PTSD. And…I like us. I like this. So maybe we wait a little while and I can adjust to the idea.”

“Time,” he filled in.

“Time,” she mumbled.

She felt him nod, “That I can do.”

The rest of their week played out how Owen had told Karen; he built the bar (not without its snags), Claire relaxed, and they went to that art show. Owen was bored out of his mind that afternoon, so Claire had to make some specific promises to get him in a cooperative mood. It was not a difficult task. She also came home with 3 new pieces for the library and a handcrafted necklace for Karen because Owen insisted they needed “evidence.” And sooner rather than later, they were back at work and falling into their routine again. No one was more relieved about this than Tony the Intern. Ever since the egg extraction from the gator pits, he hadn’t been able to get on Zelda’s good side. She would lunge and snap at him, and refused to take food from him. When he was told about it, Owen chuckled and said that she was just playing with him. Tony didn’t take that well. Things were good. Wonderful. And it was impossible to imagine that they would ever not be.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's do the time jump agaaaaaain. Last chapter? I think so. Fluff explosion. Reviews are love. Lemme hear you.

One year later.

It was a sunny August day in Madison. The sky was cloudless, but the breeze cooled the air enough to be comfortable. It was one of those days where the happiest of people are ecstatic to be alive, and the not so happy feel a little less miserable. It was a busy day at the park. There were too many beady eyes looking over the fence and too many screeching voices to rest comfortably. Estelle was less than thrilled. Her back half was immersed in the cool water of her corner of the lake, and her front rested along the sandy beach, baking in the sun. As much as she wanted to rest, the Red One was back. It was a small thing, very thin and didn’t look to be good for eating. And even though it was a pale pinkish color, it’s head was bright red. Odd little thing. It came often to Estelle’s spot and chattered nonsense from behind the fence. It was back again, but this time it was quiet. And it looked ill.; slumped and unhealthy. Estelle knew what that was like, she was so old that her bones ached in the cold, and moving too much made her tired. Maybe the Red One was old too. Or dying, either way, not good eating.

Claire was unaware that she was being watched so closely, since her thoughts were elsewhere. Three days had passed since her and Owen’s wedding anniversary. Twenty hours had passed since she’d seen or spoken to him. After the fight they’d had, she couldn’t blame him. It was her fault, at any rate. He’d gotten that disgusted look on his face, that narrowed look in his eyes, that was so eerily similar to how he’d been on Isla Nublar when they first met. She just lost it. Those old resentments came rushing up from her belly, making her throat tighten and her stomach ache. They were pretty comfortable yelling at each other, but not like that. Never like that. Not since that horrible day. And it felt like history was repeating itself.

Everything had come together, the logistics, the plans, the conceptual art, and even possible sources of funding. She’d been on the phone with Lowery and his team for weeks plotting the man hours and production time estimate for a potential launch date. But the most important factor was that she’d kept it all quiet. It was a project proposal she’d been working on for three years, something she’d slowly been putting together ever since they’d arrived permanently in Madison. No one knew except Lowery, and even he didn’t have all of the details. The last remaining piece was Owen’s stamp of approval.

It hadn’t gone well, obviously. Even after all of that time, Claire found it difficult to separate herself from the numbers, to distance herself from the objective facts. She’d show him statistics, schematics, the money they’d need, the architectural plans, and the systems they’d have to design and put in place. In general, it wouldn’t be a tough sell. Enough time had passed and there were a lot of people and their families who had been affected. The idea of such a place would be cathartic, healing. At least, that’s how Claire saw it. Owen did not. He’d yelled, stormed out, and then came back in to yell more. He’d grabbed his jacket and left without a word as to where he was going or when he’d be back. If he’d be back.

Claire didn’t sleep that night. She didn’t eat. She just waited. But when the sun came up and she was expected in the office, she found herself bypassing the building altogether and ended up at the gator pits. Estelle’s solid, familiar presence was somehow soothing. It occurred to Claire that she could go to Karen’s, go talk things out with her sister and vent. But the idea of hearing Karen’s opinions on the whole thing was less than appealing. At least Estelle wouldn’t remind her how thoughtless and unfeeling she could be.

“I wouldn’t talk to her if I were you,” came Owen’s voice from behind her. Claire turned to find him there, hands shoved in his pockets. He shrugged. “Just saying, she’s terrible at giving advice.”

“My usual sounding board took off in the middle of the night. Didn’t leave me too many options.”

Owen scratched at the back of his head, “I shouldn’t have done that.”

She scowled and turned back to Estelle, “No kidding.”

He came to stand next to her, leaning his forearms on the railing. “If it makes you feel better, I went to Karen’s.”

“It doesn’t.” It did. She was half terrified that he’d gone out to some dive bar and got hammered. The repercussions of that would’ve been an awful, long list that included cheating and dying in a car wreck. While she felt guilty about the fight, she wasn’t ready to admit to it, and she damn well wasn’t going to condone him walking out on her. She let her clipped tone stew in the silence between them.

“I shouldn’t have gotten mad like I did,” he admitted slowly. “But, damn it Claire, sometimes you piss me the fuck off.” She put a hand to her lips to prevent any negative words from slipping out. Expressing an angry feeling wasn’t the same as being angry. He had a right to be angry and they both knew it, so with a deep breath, she decided to let him have that without reciprocating. A year or two ago, she would have flown off the handle, stormed off, or said something idiotic and cruel. They’d had their fair shares of fights, both pointed and pointless. It never got any easier, but Claire liked to believe that she had a steep learning curve. The fact that he was there, that he was talking and not shutting down or shutting her out, was significant. She never wanted to relive that week when they slept in separate beds and didn’t speak to each other. Slept was a strong word, she hadn’t done any actual sleeping. And something that she had learned when fighting with Owen was that it helped to admit fault for something in alternation. First him, then her, and so on until they’d hashed it out. Owen’s temper typically triggered these fights. Claire’s need to control everything was typically the cause of it. This part was easy.

“I should have told you what I was thinking from the beginning.”  She heard him let out an unsteady breath. Whatever their faults, they were pretty good about apologizing.

“It’s just…a Jurassic World Memorial?”

“Virtual,” she corrected, “mostly. Masrani managed to salvage some pieces from the park, a few signs, a gyrosphere, some equipment. I think we could re-create the old main gates.”

Owen shook his head, “People _died_ there, Claire. People with their families, people on vacation. This would be another cheap shtick to make a quick buck off the people that park already took advantage of.”

She squared herself to him, “Not if _I’m_ running it, Owen!” He swept his gaze up to meet hers. “I lost people there too, you know. Zara was more than my assistant, and there were a number of my co-workers who didn’t make it. And those animals were slaughtered because we thought we knew better, because Simon and Dr. Wu wanted to play god and I _helped_ them do it.” His face was softening slightly. Guilt trips were long, heavy roads for Claire most bad nights. And he knew it. “Eventually, someone else will want to capitalize on that. Whether they try to start a new park or do some kind of memorial like this, I don’t know. But if I’m not involved, then I can’t control the content. I can’t control the message. I can’t promote it the way it should be promoted.” She felt her eyes and nose burn slightly with tears. “This is my only chance to make up for the things I’ve done.”

“Tell me again,” he responded quietly. And this time without her packets, charts, and spreadsheets, Claire explained to him what she envisioned. An indoor memorial, designed to look similar to the main room of the Innovation Center. There would be simulations of the park rangers, videos of the rides and park exhibits. They could even have simulations of the different dinosaurs there. More importantly, there would be a list of the people who died that day, along with a running script about the history of the park and what led up to the tragedy. Not even she was going to be excluded from her part in the narrative. At the same time, it would be staffed with paleontologists and other dinosaur experts to teach kids about the animals and about various dig sites all over the world. “I was thinking for the opening to have it over a weekend and invite the survivors out to see it first, sign their names on a wall somewhere.” Owen was silent the whole time she talked, just listening without comment. Claire continued by telling him that Lowery had the original plans and specifications for the park and its systems, not to mention the backed up data on all the animals, the attractions, and its employees. They really were the only people who had access to it, since Lowery definitely wasn’t going to hand it over to just anyone. Not even the government knew he had duplicates of that information. But Lowery insisted that it would be easy enough to pass off as original work from memory, especially if Masrani backed the project.  

“And Lowery’s the only one who knows about this?”

“Yes. I have the proposal together, but I’m not going forward with anything unless you agree.” She could tell he had a strong urge to ask her why, but he stamped it down.

“Okay.”

She froze. “Okay? Okay, what? What are you agreeing to?”

“Everything. All of it. Let’s do it. Let’s go build your memorial.”

Claire smiled.

It took another two and a half years to complete. The size and complexity of the project warranted thorough inspection and a lot of investors. Claire won them over one by one without much of a problem. The real problems came in the form of providing a proper power source, zoning issues, and skirmishes with Masrani corporate lawyers about rights and the franchise. Claire handled all of it with the poise she’d maintained from the beginning. They asked former employees to do the voice overs for the narrative and for video testimonials from surviving visitors. Lowery programmed holographic simulations of each of the 18 species that had been featured at the park, based off of real imaging. They cut together a video of the more popular shows and demonstrations, and even got some raw footage of Owen with the raptors in there. The Memorial Wall was twelve feet by twelve feet by twelve feet of marble. Engraved under each portrait was the name of the victim, and their age at the time they died. For most of them, they were able to add where they were in the park when they died. Some were unknown. Twenty- two portraits in total; it still stunned her how big and how small that number seemed. There was room along the outside of the clump of portraits where survivors would be able to write their own names, like they were signing a yearbook.

As Opening Day approached, the Jurassic World Memorial got more and more traction in the media. There were more people excited about it than not, but the few naysayers were particularly vocal about their contempt not only for the project, but for Claire herself. Listening to the news anchors hash out the details of her career in short, clipped profiles made Claire feel like everything had just happened again. Irresponsible. Negligent. Profit mongering. Tactless, tasteless, devoid of emotion. They’d said it all before, and she’d never gotten anywhere by responding, so she was determined to ignore it and let their PR team handle the press and interviews. But they were clamoring for a sound bite from her. They wanted to make her a hero or a villain, and they hadn’t decided which yet.

Until then, Owen had stayed far away from anything Memorial related. If he was asked for an opinion, he gave it. He listened to Claire scheme, vent, and predict her way through negotiations and planning, but he didn’t want to be involved. Lowery was annoyed with this attitude and Barry was concerned, but Claire knew that he wouldn’t be onboard until he saw the finished product. Because he was terrified that this tragedy he’d been so deeply enmeshed in, would be turned into a product. It wasn’t that Claire didn’t share his concerns, she was just absolutely determined to make sure it didn’t happen. She’d even gone so far as to ensure that Masrani Corp wouldn’t see a dime of the profits from ticket sales. Merchandise was limited to collector’s tokens that were sold at every exhibit in the zoo, and the profits from those sales went right back into the specified exhibit and its animals. But Owen didn’t know most of this, and he didn’t want to know.

So Claire was completely surprised when he volunteered to go with her to the press conference for the ribbon cutting. It was the one encounter with the media that she couldn’t avoid, and she was dreading it, so he offered. Admittedly, she wasn’t sure if Owen’s presence would help or hurt her case. Being nervous about what the press would think wasn’t nearly as crippling as her anxiety about what Owen would think. Regardless, he came with. At the podium, Claire read through her carefully plotted script, talking about the development of the project, the people who’d helped make it possible, and the wonderful team who’d put the whole thing together. About to speak to her personal feelings on the subject, she was interrupted by a reporter.

“Ms. Dearing, how do you respond to the criticism that you’re profiting from the people whose deaths you helped to cause?”

So it began. There was a clamoring of questions being thrown out, and Claire was too stunned to answer properly, her mouth kept opening and closing as they noise level reached new heights. For the first time, she noticed the picketers in the back, holding up their signs and yelling. Why was she so dizzy? And nauseous. That wasn’t normal. It was right then that Owen stepped up from behind her and yelled into the small microphone.

“ _EY!_ ” he bellowed out, “Shuddup! Yeah,” he emphasized, jabbing his finger in the direction of a reporter, “I’m talking to you, you four-eyed moron! Simmer. Down.” More from astonishment than compliance, the crowd quieted, leaving the picketers yelling from the back, but no one paid them any mind.

“Aren’t you Owen Grady the raptor trainer?” This caused a lot of hubbub among the press again, hands going in the air to get his attention.

“I was, yeah. Now I’m Owen Dearing, gator keeper. Got hitched.” This caused a mild ripple of disturbance for obvious reasons. “I know you all are here to get a story. I know a lot of you would like my wife to be the bad guy trying to make a quick buck off of people’s fascination with dinosaurs. Live ones. I thought that too for a long time, but that doesn’t make it true.” He paused. “This memorial isn’t about glorifying the work that Hammond and Masrani and all the others did. We’re not here to talk about the monsters. We’re here to talk about the victims: the people and the animals who died that day.  Claire and her team have spent the last few years building this thing to warn people about what happens when you think you’re in control. To warn them about what happens when you make monsters and lose control of them. What happens when you find out you never had the control you thought you did.” He reached back to take her hand pull her to stand next to him. “This is her way of paying tribute to the fallen.” He was about to leave when he turned back to the microphone suddenly, “And you damn well know the profits are going to charity! What kind of sick…?”

Claire cut him off, “Ohh-kay, thank you for that, dear. Why don’t you just…yeah. Okay.” Claire took a deep breath.  “Now, who has questions about the _memorial_?” Dozens of hands shot in the air and Claire smiled. The rest of the press conference went smoothly, which was a relief to everyone involved. As the press dispersed, Claire spun to hide her face against Owen’s chest. He patted her back sympathetically.

“That could have been worse,” he told her encouragingly.

"One day," she promised, "I'm going to smother you in your sleep." She felt the rumble of his laughter rather than heard it. A teensy bit annoyed, she glared up at him, her classic stink eye slipping out. "I'm not kidding, sir, I'm going to get so much shit for that little outburst."

He smirked, "Tell me you didn't love it." 

She wrinkled her nose, "Plead the fifth."

"Chicken shit." 

"Caveman." He kissed her soundly, probably to get her to shut up about it, but knowing everyone would be bringing it up for  _months_. Because they would, that was her life with her overprotective reptile-loving husband. 

"You ready to go in?" he asked, hand drifting up and down her spine. Claire took a step back and pulled her lips in. There was one more surprise for the day. 

"Umm, no. Actually." She paused to let out a deep breath. "We have a doctor's appointment."

His brow furrowed and did that half cocked-confused thing, " _We_?" Claire let her hand drift down to her belly, and as she placed his hand over it, the expression morphed into something blank. Something frozen. Claire was biting the inside of her cheek now while she let him soak it in.

"We," she confirmed softly with a subtle nod. 

"We," Owen repeated, now staring down at their hands.

"I was thinking Charlotte Zara for a girl," Claire started to tell him. His eyes drifted back to hers, still wide with shock, not quite believing. "Charles Zahari for a boy." Claire was close enough to see when his eyes started stinging. She could feel his hand shaking on her belly, where her own hands had abandoned it. Instead of asking him what he thought, Claire cupped his face with her hands and put her forehead to his, nodding.  _Charlie_. When she found out three days before, she'd been anxious and upset. A baby. But after scheduling the appointment, opening up the Memorial, she came to the realization that she and Owen had already had a lifetime of adventures together. What was one more?   
  


It felt like the beginning. 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
